


Another Unexpected Journey - Mairead's Story

by shieldmaidenofscotland



Series: Another Unexpected Journey [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Richard Armitage - Fandom, Richard Armitage RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Love, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 74,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldmaidenofscotland/pseuds/shieldmaidenofscotland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you spend three hours a day in someone’s face for eighteen months, especially when that someone is a grumpy Dwarf?  Prosthetic artist Mairead (Maggie) Drummond moved halfway around the world from her home in Scotland to join The Hobbit crew and it was everything and nothing she thought it would be. </p>
<p>Follow this Richard Armitage fan fiction from pre-production in New Zealand to its post BOFA conclusion.</p>
<p>The same events experienced by two people, what they think and feel, is fascinating.  I've written this Richard Armitage fan Fiction twice - from both Richard's and Mairead's points of view. Mairead's version of events will be posted here, and Richard's is posted in "Another Unexpected Journey - Richard's Story". The chapters for each character correspond to the other point of view.  While they individually stand on their own, it’s best to read them concurrently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jollytr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jollytr/gifts).



> While this story could be said to be "based on true events" it is absolutely a figment of my imagination. Yes, I use real places and people, but I don't know any of them so they're really just settings and characters in a story. No offense or disrespect are intended. All original characters, places, and events are my own creation. Fluff, fantasy, and escapism are absolutely intended.
> 
> Rated explicit for (much later) chapters.
> 
> This is my first (well, sorta second) ever attempt at publishing a fic. I welcome constructive criticism, but please be gentle.
> 
> This story wouldn't exist without the support, praise, and buttkicking of Jollytr. Thank you, my friend.

**Chapter 1 – First Impressions**

The dress hung on the closet door in all its ridiculous glory. It certainly hadn’t been the most expensive that she’d seen, but it still cost more than Maggie had ever thought she’d pay for something she’d only wear once. She chuckled to herself as she remembered Richard’s face when she threatened to show up in sackcloth. That had been after she had come home from the fifth store empty-handed, having found nothing that hadn’t made her feel silly or outraged her sense of fiscal propriety. But the sixth store had been the charm and she had fallen in love with the pretty white dress with just the hint of something sparkly. When she put it on, she felt like a princess and she knew she had to have it. She hadn’t even blinked when she heard the price.

It was funny how life was like that: one minute, there were things you swore you would never do, and the next minute those very things somehow became the right ones.

And so she sat in a hotel room that cost more for one night than she had sometimes made in an entire month, with someone – and here was the ultimate irony – doing her makeup and hair, waiting to put on the ridiculous white dress and heels that made her feel like a princess so that she could stand in front of family, friends, and God to say out loud what she’d known in her heart for so long that she couldn’t remember NOT knowing it: she loved Richard with all her heart and soul, and she always would.

It might not seem like it anymore, but it hadn’t always been that way. It had begun, as such things often do, quietly and unobtrusively, with no indication that it was the momentous occasion it turned out to be…

@@@

Leaving home for a year and half hadn’t been the easiest decision. Leaving home for a year and a half and moving to the other side of the planet from Scotland had made it even harder. Maggie knew there would be no option at that distance for quick visits when she got homesick, but she had decided to make the move anyway. She’d never get the chance to be a part of something like _The Hobbit_ again, so when she was offered the opportunity to replace a prosthetic artist who’d pulled out of the production at the last minute, she knew she couldn’t turn it down. After a few weeks of navigating a new country, a new work environment, new people, and endless production meetings, the cast had finally arrived and the real work was about to start. Her first assignment was head-casting the Dwarves.

The first two had gone well, and she was just filling out some of the paperwork while she waited for Richard Armitage. She smiled internally as she thought about how her sister-in-law would absolutely flip when she found out Maggie was going to get to touch THE Guy of Gisborne’s face. She heard footsteps and turned just as Richard reached her and extended his hand to shake.

“Hi. You’re…Mairead?”

Her mind instantly went blank and it had nothing to do with how he looked or sounded. She had been prepared for that because she owned a television and didn’t live under a rock. To be fair, he _was_ even better looking in person (somehow, unbelievably), but that wasn’t what brought her up so short. She stood there, still holding his hand with her mouth half-open, and she knew she must look ridiculous.

“Are you…all right? I’m Richard and I’m supposed to meet with you? You’re making a mold of my face.” He was speaking to her like she was mentally defective – which he probably thought she was.

“Yeah. No. I mean…yes, I’m fine.” She laughed and gave her head a shake. Now that she had started speaking, thought was becoming easier. “I’m sorry…I…you said my name right.” He gave her a look that she couldn’t interpret and she figured she needed to explain further. “I’ve had this conversation so many times that I automatically just get ready to say, “no, it rhymes with parade” but I didn’t need to do that and I just had no idea what to say instead. I’m so sorry.” She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. _Stop babbling, daftie._

“If it helps, I could mispronounce it for you,” he said with his eyes - _so damn blue_ \- twinkling in amusement.

“No, thanks, it’s okay. I think I’ve got it now,” she grinned. “But just go ahead and call me Maggie. Everyone does. The only time I’m ever Mairead is with my family and in end credits. Please, have a seat.” He did so as she leaned on the worktable, picked up a clipboard, and started writing. 

“How do most people say it?”

“What? Oh. MAY-reed.” She rolled her eyes and kept writing. “Richard…Arm…itage…”

“You said _my_ name right.”

She turned her head toward him and they locked eyes. _So impossibly blue. Wow._ “Well,” she said with a shrug, “I’ve got an advantage. I have heard of you.” She stood and turned to put the clipboard down and took a second to gather her thoughts. Every moment since he had taken her hand had been unsettling, and she was usually so professional. Not a good start. _Come on, Drummond. Get it together._ She turned and perched on the worktable again. “Okay, Richard, I’m going to try to get you out of here as quickly as possible, but I need to ask you a few questions first. Have you ever had a life-cast of your head before?”

He shook his head and she was off and running, falling into the familiar pattern of experience. She explained the process, asked if he was prone to claustrophobia (he wasn’t), warned him that some people still panicked once the silicone was on (that’s why she told everyone she head-casted to bring music that either made them happy or soothed them so they’d have something on which to focus), and then went through the simple thumbs up/thumbs down responses to the questions she asked. Finally, she entreated him to make every attempt not to move his face, even if he panicked, so they wouldn’t have to do it all again. Once he indicated he understood what he needed to do, she put his playlist on (a pop mix – she’d heard worse) and got started – first prepping him, then applying the silicone goo, and finally, the plaster strips for the outer shell. _Good heavens, this man smells good._

“Okay, Richard, now we wait. How are you feeling?” Thumbs up. “Good. I forgot to mention that some people actually fall asleep at this point and I need you not to do that. Whether you wake up yourself or I wake you, you’ll probably freak out and mess up the mold. So stay awake, okay?” Another thumbs up.

Every few minutes while the silicone set, she’d ask how he was and he’d always answer promptly with a thumbs up. Finally, the timer she set went off and it was time to free him. He followed her instructions for moving parts of his face to loosen the mold perfectly, and it came off cleanly. She handed him a towel while she inspected the inside of the mold. She had been so immersed in the process that she had managed to forget how deep and sexy his voice was. When he spoke, she almost dropped the mold.

“You’re very…efficient.” _Was that a compliment or an insult?_

She gave a short laugh. “Well, yours is somewhere around the four hundredth head-casting I’ve done so I do have it down to a bit of a science at this point. We’re all done here, by the way. This looks perfect and you did great.”

“You’re not doing hands?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure how the hands will be done or if you’ll need to be casted. They’ll let you know the where, the when, and the who like they did with this.”

“Oh. You wouldn’t be doing it?”

“I might,” she shrugged. “Or I might not. Depends on when they want it done and if I’m finished making thirteen Dwarf-head models or not.”

“Ah. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you…May-reed.”

He smirked. SMIRKED! Part of her wanted to smack him, and the other part wanted to… _Do. Not. Go. There._

“Oh no, the pleasure was all mine…Monsieur Armitahzh.”

He was chuckling as he left, and as she watched him walk away, she couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed that there was no need to do a butt-cast. And with that highly unprofessional thought, she waited for the next Dwarf in line.


	2. How do you solve a problem like Stephen?

This was bad. This was very, very bad. Maggie looked at the mess she held in her hands. The mask itself was an amorphous blob of blue with no discernible features. The plaster outer structure hadn’t had time even to start hardening, so there was nothing to help the silicone hold its shape. This cast was completely unusable. She sighed.

Normally, the next step would be to get the subject back in and start from scratch. Normally, people didn’t freak out the way Stephen Hunter had. Twelve years, hundreds of face- and head-casts, and only one person had ever reacted worse than he had. Stephen had gone from zero to terror in less than two seconds after she got the plaster strips on him, and although she had gotten him free as fast as possible, the damage was done and he was having a full-blown panic attack. The only good thing about the whole ordeal was that, as an occasional panic attack sufferer herself, she knew one when she saw one and knew that the best thing was to let it run its course. It had taken at least a half hour for him to calm himself. After that, he’d been a heart-wrenching combination of embarrassment and apology. She’d tried to reassure him, even going so far as to outright lie that the mask had been on just long enough to be usable, but he was having none of it. She’d eventually had to let him leave to go be miserable elsewhere. And now she had to figure out what to do next.

She still had eight dwarves left to cast, as well as finding a way to get something usable out of Stephen. Re-casting wasn’t an option. The odds of someone freaking out once they’d already done so were infinitely higher, and she was sure that if she even mentioned trying again, he’d likely quit rather than give it a shot. He’d been _that_ upset. And truthfully, Maggie couldn’t blame him and didn’t have the heart to even think about making him go through that again, anyway.

_No one said this job would be easy. And this is still pre-production._

She rubbed her eyes and checked the time – 12:46. The next dwarf wasn’t scheduled to come in until 2. She briefly considered grabbing some lunch, but figured her time could be better spent trying to find a solution to The Dwarf Who Could Not Be Cast. Ten minutes on Google and seven phone calls later put her in touch with someone she had met briefly when working on Ridley Scott’s _Robin Hood_. Alex Holt had modified software intended to generate animation from a 3-D scan to produce a fully-realized model from a 3-D printer. Unfortunately, that model wouldn’t be sturdy enough to stand up to prosthetic creation, but it could theoretically be casted in the same way a real head would and a finished model made from that cast. By a combination of calling in a favor he owed her, the completely logical assertion that he needed someone to use his software to find the bugs and work them out, and sheer charm, she managed to convince Alex to send her a copy to use. Another half dozen more phone calls, and she had found a friend of a friend who agreed to print the head for her. _I do not even want to THINK about how I’ll pay back THAT favor._ In slightly less than an hour, Maggie had managed to cobble together a working plan that, on paper at least, should work. Now all she needed was permission to implement it.

She hated having to go to her bosses with a problem. Things seemed to go wrong on a film set on a daily basis, but she still hated being the one to broach the subject when things went pear-shaped. The only thing that made it at all bearable was being able to present a possible solution at the same time she presented a problem. But she still hated it. _Oh well, no time like the present, I suppose. And time is at a premium._

Maggie was lucky enough to catch Peter King and Tami coming back from lunch, and she laid out the problem and her proposed solution while standing in a hallway like they were chatting about the weather. Peter made exactly one phone call and she had the permission she needed to implement her plan.

_This is not going to be a normal film shoot._

All in all, that went so much more smoothly than she’d have thought she had a right to expect. She fully believed that film set karma would make her pay later, but for now, she’d take the win. Although her focus was firmly on solving the problem for Stephen’s sake, she couldn’t help also feeling a bit chuffed at the thought that maybe she’d made a positive impression. She wasn’t above taking brownie points when and where she could get them. Now to track down Stephen.

That proved to be more difficult than she’d anticipated, and she felt as though she was running in circles when she finally found someone who thought they’d seen him in the canteen. She walked in, hoping he’d still be there, because she was running out of time before her next appointment, and she desperately wanted to let him know that he wouldn’t have to face the blue goo again. She stood scanning through the clusters of people and caught Graham’s eye.

“Mistress Maggie,” he said with a huge grin which she returned. She liked the big Glaswegian. _It’s always good to find a piece of home when I’m away._

“Hi. Have either of you seen Stephen Hunter? Someone said they saw him come in here,” she said, addressing both Graham and Richard, who was with him.

They obligingly looked around for her, being able to see over most people’s heads, and Richard pointed him out when he found him. Maggie was happy to see that he was sitting by himself with his back to the room. She thought she could talk to him privately and spare him some embarrassment. With any luck, no one else would have to know what happened. As she approached him, she hesitated to get the words right in her mind, and Richard and Graham passed her to sit at his table. She rolled her eyes and cursed them internally. _So much for privacy._

“Stephen?” She laid a hand gently on his shoulder, but he wouldn’t look up at her. “Could I talk to you for a moment? Outside?”

“You can just say it here,” he said, still without looking at her, and she thought she had never heard someone sound so dejected in her whole life.

“It will only take a moment, I promise you.” _Still_ he wouldn’t look up. The poor guy was breaking her heart.

“What’s going on?” Graham asked. Had she been sitting, she’d have kicked him under the table. Could he not see she was trying to be discreet? She bit off her retort and Stephen answered before she could think what to say.

“I freaked out with that stuff on my face and started screaming like a little girl and ruined the mask and now she’s here to offer pity.”

_Oh good heavens, he sounds like Eeyore. This will not do._

She looked at him and decided to take a different tack. It would likely piss him off, but better that than wallowing in self-pity. She crossed her arms and moved more into his line of vision.

“The hell I am.” She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Stephen hunched down even more. She soldiered on. “I was trying to do this privately because my rule is: what happens in the chair, stays in the chair, but I can do this here. You don’t get my pity because you’re nowhere near the first person to panic, there’s no way in hell you’ll be the last, and as far as strength of the freak out goes, you’re not even in the top ten. So no pity for you, sunshine.” She hadn’t _meant_ to lie to him, but she had to do _something_ to help him feel better. She paused to keep herself from smiling when she saw Richard and Graham staring at her open-mouthed. “You are, however, quite possibly the most apologetic person ever to lose it during a face-cast, so you’ve got that going for you.” She smiled down at him. _Please snap out of it and react. Please._

Stephen burst out laughing. “I’m really sorry, I-“

“Nope.” She held up a hand to forestall any further apologies or she’d never get to what she came to say. “I’ve told you – you’ve nothing to apologize for,” she said as she pulled a chair from a neighboring table and sat without being asked. “What I wanted to tell you was, I’ve had a look at the mold and it’s not as bad as I feared. I won’t know if it’s usable until I try to make the model from it, but even if it isn’t, you’ll not have to go through that again.” More lying. _Lying liar who lies._

“I won’t?” She could tell how badly he wanted to believe her.

“Nope. I’ve been in touch with a friend who’s written software that will let us scan your head and luckily, he owes me a favor. I’ve also managed to track down someone with access to a super high quality 3-D printer. Once I get a copy of the software, we’ll scan you and 3-D print it and I can make a model from that. No more blue goo for you.”

“Why don’t you do it that way all the time?” Richard asked.

“It’s not ideal,” she shrugged, though she’d have gladly kicked _him_ under the table. _What do you care? You’ve already been casted._ “It’s more complicated and usually cost-prohibitive. In a couple of years, I’m sure it will be done that way all the time, but until the technique is perfected, we go with what works best. But not for you,” she said, turning her attention back to Stephen _where it belonged_. “In fact, even if I can use what we’ve already done, I’d like to scan you anyway if you _can_ spare me some time. That way, I can give you the file and if you ever need a mask done in the future, you just need to find someone to print it for you and you’ll never have to worry about this again.”

Stephen’s relief was palpable. “I…thank you,” he said with a sheepish grin.

She smiled. “Better?”

“Much,” he nodded as she stood. “Do you want to join us?”

Truth be told, she _was_ hungry, but… “Thanks,” she said as she returned her chair to the other table. “I would, but I’ve just blown through my lunch break and my next victim will be wondering where the hell I am in about two minutes. But a little advice? Get someone to find you some really good chocolate. You’ll be right as rain again in no time.” She smiled again, and patted Stephen’s shoulder and left.

By the end of the day, she was starving and tired, had head-casted eight out of nine dwarves, figured out how to cast someone who was uncastable…and been promoted to Senior Prosthetic Makeup Artist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in Richard's side of the story, it can be found at http://archiveofourown.org/works/3383849/chapters/7402754, and will be updated in a few days. Thanks for reading!!


	3. Chocolate and lies

Maggie didn’t have much of an idea what, exactly, the difference between “prosthetic artist” and “senior prosthetic artist” would mean going forward, but for the two days since receiving the promotion, nothing had changed. She still had the head models to finish, and she was enjoying having the glorified closet she shared with two others to herself while everyone else was at lunch. She was sitting at her worktable, earbuds in and blasting Jethro Tull. She only had one more set of the bloody models to go before starting Stephen’s, and he was scheduled to come in for scanning the next day. She could not wait to move on to the next project.

She took a moment to stretch and rub her neck, which turned out to be incredibly fortuitous as a hand grasped her shoulder. She hadn’t heard anyone coming, and had she been holding the Dwarf head, she’d have dropped it as she screamed, spun off her stool, yanked the buds from her ears, and came to rest in the guard position, ready to beat the crap out of whoever scared her. Her eyes widened at the sight of two very startled would-be Dwarves in her workroom.

“Jesus!” Her hand went to her chest. “You scared the hell out of me,” she said as she laughed self-consciously.

“I’m sorry. I called your name, but I guess you didn’t hear me.” Stephen smiled, but looked slightly alarmed at her over the top reaction. Richard, standing behind him, looked even more disconcerted.

“Someday I’ll learn not to listen to music so loud. Did you need something? Oh god, today’s not Thursday, is it? Are you here to be scanned?”

Stephen chuckled and shook his head. “No, that’s tomorrow. I have something for you.” He held up a hand in which he was holding several Cadbury Dark chocolate bars. “I heard you telling someone the other day that you had a craving and I wanted to say thank you, anyway, so… This one is for being so great when I panicked, this one is for saving me from having to do it again, and this one is for lying to me.”

She froze. _How did he know? Shit! Admit nothing._ “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my job, but… _did_ I lie to you?” She kept her tone carefully neutral.

He smiled. “Thinking back, there was never a chance in hell that any part of that mold you did would be usable. If I know it, you had to know it, but you lied so I wouldn’t feel too bad about it. And I appreciate that.”

She relaxed fractionally. Of the lies she’d told him, that one was by far the less damaging to his psyche. She forced a grin. “Okay, you caught me. But honestly, you didn’t need to bring me anything. I promise – it’s all part of the job.”

“Maggie, it’s just a couple of candy bars. Take them. Please.”

“Oh, I’m taking them. I never, _ever_ turn down chocolate for any reason. I just want you to understand it’s not necessary.” The smile was easier as the adrenaline that had shot through her body metabolized.

“Understood,” he said with a smile and handed the candy over. “See you tomorrow?”

“If tomorrow is really Thursday, then yes. And thanks for the chocolate.”

Stephen turned to leave but Richard lagged behind. Maggie frowned.

“Did you need something?” She couldn’t think what.

After a glance over his shoulder to make sure Stephen was gone, Richard crossed his arms over his chest, dropped his head, and somehow managed to make it look like he was looking _up_ at her despite his height.

“What else did you lie to him about?”

She froze again. “Excuse me?”

“You were relieved when he explained how he knew. You lied about something bigger and you’re glad he still doesn’t know it, and you’re afraid he’ll find out.”

“Well, if that’s the case, it wouldn’t make much sense to answer your question, would it? Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t quite understand how this is any of your business.” She perched on the stool and leaned back against the worktable. _Answer THAT, hot shot._

He chose to ignore it instead and smirked at her. “I’m guessing he _is_ in the top ten biggest freak outs.”

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake._ She laughed and spun away from him. “After over four hundred head-casts, do you honestly think I can name who panicked and who didn’t?” She picked up a pen, pretending she was going back to work and hoped he’d take the hint and leave. He didn’t.

“Yes, I do. And if I weren’t right, I think you’d just say so.”

 _The bastard sounds amused!_ Maggie slammed the pen down, slid off the stool, and breezed past him to shut the door, checking the hallway first to make sure no one was within earshot.

“Yes! Okay? Is that what you want to hear, Sherlock? You figured it out! Congratulations!” She kept her voice down to avoid being overheard, but there was no way he could doubt her ire as she went as close to toe-to-toe as she could with someone nearly a foot taller. “The truth is, only one person ever freaked out in a bigger way and it’s really almost too close to call but Stephen managed to stay conscious. Do you feel better for knowing? Because _he_ sure as hell won’t, and I swear to god if I find out you told him that, I’ll…well, I don’t know what I’ll do but you can be damn sure that you won’t like it.” _Oh, well THAT was smooth. Nice one, Drummond._ Though she cringed mentally, she stood her ground.

“You lied to him to spare his feelings, but you feel bad about it.” It wasn’t a question.

 _Well, that took a turn I wasn’t expecting._ “Oh, for the love of Freud.“ She rolled her eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh. “YES! I don’t like lying to people. Even if I have a reason.” Anger mostly diffused, she brushed past him again to sit at her worktable. She heartily wished he’d leave and let her get back to work. “I should think in this business that might be refreshing,” she added under her breath.

Not under her breath _enough_ it would seem. “Excuse me?”

Maggie sighed. “This whole industry…it’s predicated on fakery and falsehood. Actors –“ she just barely managed to speak in generalities instead of indicting him personally. “- pretend to be something they’re not. I make people _look_ like something they’re not. Pretty soon, you’ll spend hours of your life standing in front of a green backdrop that will eventually be a mountain or a spider’s web or a dragon. I know that’s all part of telling a story, but this business runs on arse-kissing and sucking up so…” she shrugged as she turned back around to face him. “…I try not to add to it if I can help it.”

His eyes widened briefly and then an eyebrow went up. “It was a nice thing you did,” he said quietly. “And he won’t hear it from me, I promise. But how did you know the tough love act would make him laugh?”

She shrugged again. “I didn’t. I actually thought he’d get pissed at me, but I figured that was better than the self-pity. I took a shot and it worked out better than I’d hoped.”

“You’re quite the diplomat, it seems.”

She laughed. “Most production companies list that as part of the skillset for this job, actually. We do deal with actors and their fragile little egos, you know.” _Oops._ “Present company excluded, obviously.”

Now it was _his_ turn to laugh. “Nice save, May-reed.”

She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Are we done here, Oakenpest? Can I get back to work while you go swanning off to do something glamorous and no doubt swoon-worthy?”

“Yes, we’re done here,” he said as he moved to the door and opened it. “And for what it’s worth, it _wasn’t_ any of my business. I was just curious.” He grinned and left.

She sat for several moments just staring at the empty doorway. Over the years, she’d developed (out of necessity) the ability to read actors. But in all that time, she’d never had one read her back. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard's story can be found at:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/3383849/chapters/7402754  
> Thanks for reading!!


	4. This is only a test

The next few weeks became a blur of endless production and design meetings and prosthetic creation. The paradox of pre-production was that there was never enough time to get the things done that needed to be, while it felt like the real work would never start. Maggie quickly came to feel like she had been sucked into an endless loop of makeup tests.

The tests were important. They were the opportunity to find out what worked and what didn’t. Just because a design looked good as a sketch or a maquette, it didn’t always translate well onto an actor’s face, and changes would be made. The first test for Thorin was a prime example. When Maggie saw Richard in full face, hair, and costume, she observed that he looked like a Klingon. Imprudently, she made that observation audibly, and although some of her fellow geeks in the makeup truck amused themselves with musing about whether a bat’leth would make an effective weapon against orcs, the supervisors weren’t so amused. Neither was Richard.

Another benefit of makeup tests was to give actors who’d not had a lot of experience working in prosthetics a chance to get used to both the process of having it applied and moving in it. Richard wasn’t overly fond of either. Maggie heard from a few of the people who'd worked on him that he’d been showing impatience with the process and was generally pretty miserable. She had seen enough of him on television the past few years to reason that he had never had to suffer much in the way of makeup, and that his facial expressions were almost more important to his performance than delivering his lines; and now he was dealing with serious challenges on both fronts. Fortunately, they were working on making his appearance softer which would give him more ease of motion. Dealing with the application of the prosthetics would come in time. She hoped.

About a week into the testing process, it fell to Maggie to turn Richard into the angry dwarf. She ran into Natalie, the assistant she was working with, on the way to the trailer that morning.

“Hey, I know you’re not a chatterbox or anything, but I think maybe we should try to keep things as quiet as possible today, yeah? Richard’s not exactly a fan of prosthetics.”

“Do you think he’s as grumpy as they say?”

Maggie shrugged. “I don’t really know, but I doubt it. It’s probably more likely that it’s just not a pleasant thing and some people don’t get used to it right away. But I think if we try to be as non-invasive as possible, it couldn’t hurt.”

Natalie agreed and they were still getting set up when Richard arrived and sat down. Maggie smiled at him in greeting.

“Hey. Are you sick of this yet?”

For a split second, he looked like he _really_ wanted to answer affirmatively, but he just rolled his eyes and grunted instead. She decided maybe a little positive reassurance wouldn’t go amiss.

“I’m guessing you’ve probably spent more time in a makeup chair in the past week than you have in your entire career, yeah?” She smiled as he looked at her in obvious surprise. “With the exception of Lucas’ tattoos – which I assume were stenciled – you probably haven’t had to spend much time in the chair at all, have you?”

“Not really, no,” he sighed.

She smiled. “It can take a while, but most people do get used to it eventually. I’m sure you will, too, Oakensigh.”

Maggie wasn’t completely sure, but as she and Natalie started to work on him, she thought she saw him relax a little. According to plan, they worked as quietly as they could and she wasn’t surprised that Richard didn’t initiate conversation, either. She _was_ surprised, however, when they were done and she told him he was needed in wardrobe and he neither responded nor moved. _He’s asleep???_

“Okay, Oakennap,” she said as she gently squeezed his shoulder. “Wake up. You’re done.” His eyes popped open immediately and then narrowed.

“I wasn’t asleep. It’s hard to hear. Because of the ears,” he demurred as he pointed to them.

She nodded. “Uh huh, I’m sure it is. And you were asleep.” She couldn’t help grinning. “You’re needed in wardrobe after you get your hair on, so get out of my chair.”

Richard nodded and left and Maggie just smiled at Natalie who laughed quietly.

“Well, he certainly wasn’t as advertised, was he?”

“Not even a little,” Maggie said. “Well done, us.”

That was another benefit to makeup tests: learning the personalities of the people you worked on. It wasn’t that Maggie saw actors as beings who needed to be tiptoed around and kowtowed to, but she learned early in her career that she loved what she did but the people attached to the faces she worked on usually didn’t, and anything she could do to make the process more bearable was only going to make things better for everyone in the long run. The downside was that keeping the preferences and quirks of multiple people straight in her head and adjusting her behavior to match theirs could be mentally exhausting. That day, she went from fidgety, taciturn Richard to happy, garrulous Adam. They were the definition of complete opposites and she was glad that she only had to help here and there with the last of the dwarves rather than start someone new from scratch.

She was even gladder when all the dwarves were off on the soundstage and she had the rare opportunity to sit and do nothing. She went on a coffee run and then, after distributing everyone’s order, found a folding chair and set it up outside the trailer. Natalie joined her and they sat with their coffees in the fresh air and chatted.

“Why do they agree to do it – a role that requires prosthetics, I mean – if they’re going to hate having it put on?”

Maggie shrugged and tipped her face up to the sun. It was late summer, but the wind was cool and they were sitting mostly in shade. “I don’t think they realize what it’s like until it’s being done. I mean, it’s one thing to hear “you’ll have to sit for two hours every day while someone puts your face on,” but until you’re actually sitting there, you have no idea how mind-numbing it really is. Or how long two hours can seem.”

“Do you really think he’ll get used to it?” There was no need to ask who Natalie meant.

“If he wants to keep his sanity, he’ll find a way. He’s not got much choice. And if he doesn’t, I pity whoever gets stuck working on him the most.”

“After today, I’d think that would probably be you,” Natalie said and laughed.

“I guess that’s possible,” Maggie answered doubtfully.

“They’re paying attention to who works best with whom, Maggie, and I don’t think he’s fallen asleep in anyone else’s chair.”

Maggie laughed. “Must be my scintillating personality.”

They chatted some more about different projects they’d worked on, then eventually trailed off into companionable silence that was broken only by the arrival of several dwarves at once who were finished for the day and ready to have their faces removed.

“Buncha lazy-arsed slackers sittin’ ‘round like they were on vacation while some of us earn a good honest livin’.”

Maggie smiled as she opened her eyes. “Is it really wise, Jimmy, to insult the people whose job it is to make you look good?”

She laughed as she got up and went back into the trailer to get to work. It quickly filled up with impatient dwarves all eager to get the rubber and glue off, and it was all hands on deck to get it done as fast as possible. The heat generated by all those bodies in so small a space quickly became uncomfortable, so Maggie took off her sweatshirt while she waited for Ken to sit down and tossed it in a corner with her bag. She had just turned back to the chair when –

“THAT’S where I know you from!” Ken boomed as he pointed at her. She froze as several pairs of eyes turned in her direction.

“ _Charlie’s Army_ ,” he read from her t-shirt, and she relaxed though she was still painfully aware she was the center of attention at her end of the trailer. “That lot worked on _King Arthur_ , yes? You were the girl during the battle scenes spraying people with blood. Why did you not say anything?”

Maggie opened her mouth to answer, but Graham, who was leaning nearby against the wall, chimed in first. “My god, that WAS you! You could have mentioned it, lass.”

“I didn’t…It was - ,” she cringed. “I was crowd only and I didn’t work on anyone credited, so I never actually met either of you. I spent most of my time in the soldiers’ tent.”

“Still, I wish you’d said something,” Ken said as she removed his beard. “I’ve spent the last month trying to remember where I’d seen you before.”

“Say what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’ve not met,’” she laughed. “’But I worked on the same film as you seven years ago. I was the girl with the blood bucket’? That wouldn’t have sounded _too_ odd.”

“So you’re with Charlie’s Army,” Graham said. “Are you a member?”

“An original,” she nodded. “Charlie’s my cousin. My dad and his mum were brother and sister.”

“But I thought it was a rule that everyone in the Army had to be trained in stage combat?”

“Aye, it is,” she replied as she peeled Ken’s forehead off and sincerely hoped that would be the end of the conversation. But of course, it wasn’t. She glanced at Graham and saw that he was gaping at her.

“You’re _combat trained_? In what?”

She shrugged. “A few things.”

“Such as…?”

Refusing to answer would have been rude (and it was clear Graham wasn’t going to drop it, anyway), but it made Maggie feel uncomfortable that she’d attracted this much attention. _Stupid t-shirt_.

She bowed to the inevitable and answered, “short sword, long sword, broadsword, short bow, longbow, crossbow, and basic hand-to-hand and I can manage most of it from horseback.”

She was removing the excess glue from Ken’s face as he asked, “what have you been in?”

“Well, I’ve only gotten to use the fight training twice – in a tv movie about Boudica and in _Robin Hood_ last year. I was one of the people on the beach fighting the French, but I’ve never been able to find myself. Mostly, it’s just been “third villager on the left” because there’s not a lot of call for short women fighters. But I did carry a basket of bread past the camera right before Wallace’s wife almost gets raped in _Braveheart_. That was the high point, I guess. You’re done, by the way.”

“You’re too young to have been in _Braveheart_ ,” Ken said as he got to his feet. “That was fifteen years ago now.”

She laughed as she waved Graham over to the chair. “It was filmed almost seventeen years ago, and that’s how old I was. I’ll let you boys do your own math. Don’t make me say the number.”

“You could be scale doubling,” Graham said. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s my day job and I happen to like what I do, thank you very much,” she smiled. “It’s just not that fun to stand around all day for the chance to sew in the corner or pretend to cook or wrangle children. This is a lot more fun. Maybe if I had more chances to fight, because I really do rather like that, but like I said, there aren’t too many chances for that when you’re a short woman.”

“We have women scales doubles here,” Ken pointed out.

She glanced down at herself and laughed. “And which of you do you think I’m built to double? I like what I do,” she repeated. “I get to spatter people with blood and make scars and wounds and now I get to turn six-footers into pissed off dwarves,” she said as she turned a pissed off dwarf back into a six-footer.

“Aye, and you don’t have to sit and have pounds of rubber glued to your face that way,” said Ken as he prepared to leave.

Maggie laughed. “Aye, that too.”

As they were tidying up after all the actors had left, Natalie started giggling. “So aren’t you just the big bad ass?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Oh god, hardly. And how embarrassing was that?”

“For me? Not at all. For you? Hugely, apparently. Since we’re knocking off early tonight, you want to go for dinner and a pint or two?”

“Love to. I could use a pint or two,” Maggie grinned.

It had been a productive, but tiring, day; and after dinner and the refusal of a third pint, Maggie headed home to bed. She had angry dwarves to create in the morning.


	5. Is that a nipple in your ear or are you just happy to see me?

After months of work and a final frenzy of last-minute activity, shooting began. Despite having nearly an extra month of pre-production, there were things that still hadn’t quite gotten finished. The truth was, no matter how much time there was, it was never enough. Maggie always felt a bit relieved when production started. It meant routine, if any day on a movie set could ever be described as such, could be established.

Maggie’s days started (way too early) in the prosthetic trailer turning an actor into a Dwarf, and most of the time, that meant her day started with Richard. She liked that Richard didn’t want to talk in the mornings. Having to chat so early would likely have driven her mental and she’d have ended up quitting within a month. Mornings were the bane of her entire existence – unless she was seeing them as continuations of the night before. She’d have thrived during the legendary three months of night shoots for Helm’s Deep. She LONGED for a night shoot. This starting work at 4:30 am thing was an abomination. Not that she ever let on.

She didn’t have to be there. There were other jobs in other places and she had chosen this. She had wanted to be part of it. She knew it wouldn’t be easy when she signed on, so it hardly seemed right to complain. And really, other than the awful start time, there wasn’t much she felt like complaining about. Yes, the days were long and she spent so much of it on her feet, but it would be like that anywhere. Okay, Richard’s choice of music was pretty abysmal (well, not ALL the time – she quite liked the Wagner), but she had grown up with two brothers who listened to Norwegian folk metal and this really wasn’t much worse. He didn’t need her to chat, and for that she was grateful.

Really, her biggest challenge was learning to work around him on the mornings he needed to read his script or review his notes. She did what she could to stay out of his way so he could read and she found herself apologizing when she couldn’t manage it. That was new for her. She knew she had a job to do and she had no problem doing it, but she’d never worked on someone who put as much effort into getting into character as Richard did, and she regretted the times when she felt she was injecting herself into his process.

That didn’t mean she was willing to bend _completely_ over backwards for him. She was used to the stoicism and had no trouble looking past the grumpiness because for the most part, it wasn’t directed at her. It’s what he needed to do to be Thorin and she understood that. But every once in a while, the moodiness was all Richard, and she had very little patience for that. One morning, he arrived in a mood that Thorin himself would have envied and made her want to ask who pissed in his porridge. She greeted him as she always did, but he didn’t deign to answer. Several times while she was working, she had to ask him if he would please stop scowling because he was furrowing his brow so severely she couldn’t get his forehead and eyebrows on. He’d comply with her request with a look that would have cowed her if it didn’t piss her off. Eventually, he just closed his eyes and let her work. She knew he wasn’t asleep, though. His body was too tense. Finally, thankfully, she was finished and she told him so, but he didn’t move. _Pretending he can’t hear me, I suppose._ At that point, she’d had it. She put her mouth right next to his ear.

“Hey, Oakengrump. You’re done, so get out of my chair.”

He jumped and gave her a look which probably should have killed her right then and there. Instead, it made her want to laugh. She refrained, however, because she really didn’t want to test his temper _too_ much. She liked her job, and wanted to keep it.

Some mornings, Maggie would work on someone else. She wasn’t so fond of that, to be honest. She _adored_ the rest of the lads, but they were all so much more _talkative_ and as important as she felt it was to be quiet with Richard, she felt it was equally important to respond to the others. But it was _hard_ at that hour. She also found herself feeling bad for Richard on those mornings. Most of the other makeup artists were fairly chatty and she knew that was hard for him. Of course, feeling sorry for him was a bit odd. He was a big boy and he wouldn’t have lasted long in this business if he couldn’t work with all types of people. Still, she was glad when she’d go back to working with him.

When she was finished with whomever she was working on, she’d float between chairs and help anywhere she could until everyone had been shoved out the door to go to wardrobe. Then, barring some makeup crisis, she’d be able to grab some breakfast before heading to the soundstage for the days she needed to be on set or to the workshop on the days she didn’t. The days on set were a mixed blessing. It was hours and hours sitting (or more often, standing) around huddled with all the other makeup artists, hair stylists, and wardrobe people punctuated by all-too-infrequent periods of insane action as everyone rushed to touch up, fix, or primp the entire cast as quickly as possible. The payoff for all of that was getting to be there to see the film being made.

It bore no resemblance to what would be the finished product, of course, but it was still amazing to watch at times. The Dwarves in the book didn’t have very developed personalities, so it was interesting to see them come to life – especially Thorin. The King Under the Mountain in the book was nothing more than an angry short guy who wanted his mountain back, but in Richard’s hands, he was a surprisingly complex, sympathetic character.

And then there was the day that he sang.

She was crowded into an out-of-the-way corner with the rest of the crew, half asleep on her feet, waiting for the Dwarves to start singing in Bag End. The final recording would be dubbed onto the finished scene, but they were going to sing live on set. When Richard started, jaws dropped.

_Holy fuck._

That voice coming out of that person just didn’t seem fair. She could practically hear the panties (and not a few pairs of boxers) hitting the floor. His voice was just… _like warm chocolate flowing over gravel_. Okay, that was stupid, but it was the only way she could have thought to describe it. It was a privilege to have been on set that day.

Well, it was a privilege every day and she knew that, but the days were very long and there were a lot of nights where Maggie went home and didn’t even make it past her couch because the bedroom was just too far to walk. Sundays, the one day a week she had off, were sublime. She allowed herself to sleep in until the sun came up before going for a leisurely run, Skyping her family, and then spending some time trail riding out of a stable owned by her landlady’s son. That was the best part of her week and she planned to keep doing it as long as the weather permitted. Then she’d go grocery shopping and do laundry before ending her day with takeout, a bottle of wine, and a cheesy movie.

On one such Sunday, she had just settled in with orange chicken, a pinot grigio, and one of her favorite movies when her phone buzzed. It was a text. From Richard?

_Can you glue a nipple in my ear?_

Maggie stared at her phone for a few seconds as she tried to process what she was reading. It was…odd. For one thing, he’d never texted her before; and for another, _was he drunk?_

_Um…wtf? Richard???_

_May have solved hearing problem. Cut the tip off nipple for a baby bottle but it won’t stay in my ear. Needs to be glued. Can you do it?_

_I guess so. Is this some weird practical joke?_

_NO! Am entirely serious. Hate to ask, but can you come early tomorrow so we can try this?_

_Sure. 4 am?_

_Perfect. Thank you._

Getting up a half hour earlier on a Monday was about the last thing she wanted to do, but on the other hand… _he wanted to glue a baby nipple into his ear_. THAT she had to see.

Maggie got to the trailer before he did and waited. He arrived a minute or two after four with coffee in hand.

“Here. I figured it was the least I could do.”

“You brought me coffee?” She reached out to take it, but he pulled it back. _Not cool_.

“I should have asked. Maybe you prefer tea?”

She smiled and took the cup. “I _prefer_ whatever caffeinated beverage someone is handing me at the moment.” She lifted it to her lips but thought better of it and set it down without drinking any.

He frowned at her. “Is there something wrong with it? I got mocha because I figured chocolate…”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’m sure. Mocha’s perfect – and yes, anything chocolate,” she added as she smiled. “But I’m going to wait until we’ve finished. Thank you, though.”

“It’ll be cold by then. Go on.”

“Um, hello? Coffee breath?” She made a face.

“Maggie, I’ll survive one morning.” He laughed. “I’ll breathe through my mouth. Drink it.”

It took approximately 0.3 seconds for her to give in. “Okay, but only because this hour of the day is truly evil.” She took a few sips. “Mmm…mocha. Now…show me the nipples.” She giggled.

He sat and pulled them out of his bag. “I know you think I’m insane, but…”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, but for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re insane. But really, all that matters is if it works for you or not.”

He showed her how they sat in his ear, then handed them to her. “There’s only one problem. That’s the last pair I have, so I, uh, need a favor.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You want me to go buy you nipples????” 

“I, uh… after I finally figured out how to cut them, I went back to the chemist’s to get more, but I, uh, got recognized and, um, well…”

 _Oh my dear aunt Fanny, he’s embarrassed. How adorable_. “And you were too embarrassed to buy nipples in front of your adoring public?” She was trying desperately not to laugh, but couldn’t contain the smirk. That was okay, though, because he couldn’t look her in the eye.

“Well, it…I…it was…I was going to buy as many as I could and it just seemed…” She shouldn’t have been so amused by his discomfort, but she couldn’t help it. “I bought gum instead. This is the kind you usually chew, right?” He pulled the pack out of his bag.

She laughed then. _He bought me gum?!?_ “Oh god love you, Oakendork. Yes, I will go buy nipples for you, Richard. Annnnd…there’s a sentence I never anticipated saying.”

“Thank you,” he said with relief and laughed with her. “I owe you.”

She waved him off. “All part of the glamorous world of filmmaking.”

She was surprised by how easily she got them glued in and they really did look like they’d work. It became apparent throughout the day that they did, because Richard seemed to get progressively prouder of his little invention. It might have been in his best interest not to let anyone know what he’d done, though, because it looked like he’d be suffering a lot of ridicule as the man with the rubber nipples in his ears.

That night, he was the last person to sit in Maggie’s chair to have his face removed. By that point, she was exhausted and had had to skip lunch in order to run out and buy fifteen dozen nipples. Sometimes, when she got deliriously tired, her inner monologue became outer dialogue. As she pulled the wee things out, she shook her head and said, “just like a man not to know what to do with nipples when he has them. Oakenfool thinks they go in his ears.” She snickered to herself, until she saw the look on his face and realized she had spoken out loud.

“I…I didn’t mean…” she stammered and she could feel herself blushing. Thankfully, he burst out laughing. “My mouth will get me killed one day, I swear,” she said as she laughed with him. He waved her off, and she was thankful that at the end of the day, at least, he could show a sense of humor.

She was also thankful that the days that she _didn’t_ work on him became more infrequent. He may have been a moody thing some days, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she rather liked him.


	6. Keep calm and do NOT say calm down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarf sausage, and sneezes, and panic attacks - OH MY!

All in all, Maggie was fairly content with working almost exclusively with Richard. Beyond the fact that he didn’t want to talk in the mornings, she liked how easy it was to establish a routine around him because he was quite possibly the biggest creature of habit she’d ever worked with. He would do what he had to while she applied the prosthetics to become Thorin, and he’d pretty much stay in character until it was time to take them off again. There were, however, moments where his own Richard-ness would come through, often with hilarious or embarrassing results.

On one of the more relaxed, lighter days on set, Richard stood talking to Martin during one of the breaks in shooting about the prosthetic Dwarf hands and how the thick fingers could make other things look, well, _comparatively disappointing_. He specifically mentioned using the loo. It was such an uncharacteristically Richard thing to say (when he was on set, anyway – who the hell knew what he was really like when he felt able to be just himself?) that she answered without thinking, as she raised her brush to take some of the shine off Martin’s face.

“You _could_ tell them you’d feel more authentic with some Dwarf sausage between your legs, but I’m pretty sure doing _that_ particular life-cast for the prosthetic is WAY above _my_ pay grade. Well, to be fair, either that or I’d need to pay _you_ for the privilege.”

Martin immediately burst into laughter so hard he was gasping for breath. She froze with her brush in mid-air as she realized that she had, _yet again_ , said something aloud that she’d never intended. She didn’t dare look at Richard, but she could practically _feel_ his shocked expression.

“Oh, fucking hell…I’m going to go die in a corner now,” she said as she beat a hasty retreat.

It took at least an hour for her to stop feeling as though her entire body was blushing, and she spent the rest of the day making sure she was nowhere near Richard. It wasn’t easy, but she was nearly home free when she heard someone sit in her chair to have their prosthetics removed. She turned around…and there was Richard.

Smirking.

She was pretty sure that none of the women the world over who were obsessed with that smirk would think it so attractive if it were being used to embarrass them. As her stomach settled somewhere around her toes, she hid her face in her hands. “Not. One. Word.”

He laughed. “’Dwarf sausage’?”

_Are you fucking kidding me?_ “What did I just say?”

“You said ‘not one word.’ Dwarf sausage is two words,” he pointed out and looked absurdly pleased with his unassailable logic.

_Smart arse_. She wanted to stay mad at him, but she found herself laughing instead, internally vowing to watch what she said from that point on. It was a crock of crap, though, and she knew it. Sooner or later, she’d forget herself and do something embarrassing again. As it turned out, Richard wasn’t immune from making a social faux pas or two. Maybe it was karma getting him back for enjoying her discomfort, but it didn’t take too long for it to happen.

A few days later, she was removing his face and having trouble pulling one of the eyebrows off. She had leaned in closer to get a better look at what she was doing when he unleashed an enormous sneeze with no warning. As if that weren’t enough, her mouth had been open. She pulled back and cringed.

“Bless you? I guess.”

“Oh my god, Maggie. I am _so_ sorry. I didn’t know it was coming, I swear. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s probably not what most women dream of when they fantasize about swapping spit with you,” she said as she toweled herself off. The idea that his Army of fans might actually be jealous of her at that moment was entirely hilarious and she burst out laughing.

“Maggie, I’m so –“ He trailed off as he joined in the laughter. “No, really, I _am_ sorry.”

She waved him off. “Believe me, that’s not the worst that’s ever happened.”

“It isn’t? Do I want to know?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s pretty gross.”

“Well, now I _have_ to know.”

Maggie smiled.“I had to do an arse cast of an actor who didn’t realize that’s what he’d be doing with his morning. Unfortunately, he’d spent the night before consuming Mexican food and too much beer. Just make sure you put the word “explosive” in front of whatever you’re imagining right now,” she said as she went back to peeling off the prosthetics.

“You’re making that up.”

“The hell I am. The hell I _could_ ,” she shuddered. “So you see, a little spit isn’t so bad, really.”

“Talk about being above your pay grade.”

She flashed him a warning look. “Shut up, Oakensneeze.”

Wisely, since it was apparent he valued all his bodily parts, he did and she pulled off his nose.

“May I have that?”

She made a face. “Ew. Why?”

He shrugged nonchalantly – a little _too_ nonchalantly. “Souvenir?”

“You’re kidding me. That’s been used! It has dried glue and sweat in it! Not to mention the fact that you just sneezed through it,” she said with a shudder.

“I…well, it’s proof that my Dwarf nose _is_ bigger than my actual nose.” He wouldn’t – or couldn’t – look at her.

For as long as she lived, she would never understand how someone who looked like he did could possibly be self-conscious about anything. His was a nose that had launched a thousand fantasies, yet he only saw it as too big.

“It’s your nose, I guess.”

She handed it to him, but planned to get him a new, unused one. The next morning, she went to the workshop and pocketed one. They had plenty in reserve and she could just make a new one over lunch to replace it. When Richard arrived, she was waiting outside the trailer for him.

“Hey, Oakennose. Hold out your hand.” She expected him to protest the epithet, but he said nothing and did as she asked. She placed the nose in it. “It looks like one of these has gone missing from the workshop, so if anyone says anything about it, you know nothing, yeah? Now _please_ promise me you’ll get rid of that disgusting used one?”

The look of gratitude he gave her seemed out of proportion to the gift of one prosthetic nose, but she had to admit he was damn cute when he was unsure of himself. Like he needed to be any cuter, or have another woman in her family crazy about him. Her sister-in-law watched _Robin Hood_ and _Spooks_ and _Strike Back_ like she was worshipping him and those shows were her church, and her niece loved him for the children’s books he’d read for CBeebies. Lizzie called him “the Flat Stanley man” for her very favorite.

It hurt to think about her family. She knew that moving to the other side of the world would be difficult and that visits home wouldn’t be possible, but until she experienced what it was like to be so far away for so long, Maggie had no idea exactly _how hard_ it would be. There was a production break from July to September, and she had planned to go home during it, but airfare was higher than she’d budgeted and she knew if she went home _then_ she wouldn’t be able to go home for Christmas. And she’d never missed a Christmas with her family in her life, so she took a fill-in job in Sydney for five weeks instead, and then sat around bored in New Zealand until production started again.

The family didn’t take it well, especially Lizzie. She was six and just didn’t understand – she missed her Auntie and that’s all she knew. And with Maggie’s work schedule and the time difference, phone calls were almost impossible except for Sundays. Maggie had used some of her precious packing space to bring some of Lizzie’s favorite books with her so she could read to her over the phone and Skype, but now Lizzie was demanding “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” – the ONE book Maggie hadn’t brought, and where was she going to find a copy of that in New Zealand in September?

After a long and frustrating day where everything that _could_ go wrong _did_ go wrong, Maggie listened to her voicemail on her way across the car park. Lizzie had called again to beg for Dr. Seuss and something inside Maggie snapped. Next thing she knew, she was crying and kicking and banging on her car out of guilt, frustration, and homesickness.

“Motherfucking stupid piece of shit cocksucking stupid car!”

“ _Maggie?!?_ ” She heard someone call her name, but she was just too far into her tantrum to stop. “Maggie, stop!” She didn’t, and suddenly an arm wrapped itself around her middle and she was lifted into the air. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell do you think _you’re_ doing? Let me go!” She tried wriggling away, but Richard held her too tightly. After all the time she spent touching him (because it was her job), she couldn’t remember him ever touching her and it was…weird.

“Not until you tell me why you’re beating up your car. That _is_ your car, right?”

“YES IT’S MY FUCKING CAR. PUT! ME! DOWN!”

He did, but not before positioning himself between her and it. He leaned against it and did that thing where he dropped his head and made it look like he was looking up at her. “Are you trying to break a hand or something? Why are you beating up your car, Maggie?”

_I don’t owe you any explanations_. “Because I…BECAUSE I CAN’T DO THIS! HOW COULD I DO THIS? HOW COULD I JUST UP AND LEAVE FOR A YEAR? WHY DID I THINK I COULD DO IT? HOW DO YOU DO IT? HOW DO YOU JUST GO TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE world and just…” she trailed off on a sob.

He frowned. “You didn’t go home during the break?”

_Of course. Airfare to HIM would be nothing_. “NO I DIDN’T GO HOME DURING THE FUCKING BREAK! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH AIRFARE IS BETWEEN HERE AND THERE? MAKEUP ARTISTS DON’T GET PAID THE WAY MOVIE STARS DO AND I – Oh god, why did I think I could do this? Why did I think it would be okay? It’s not okay. I’m not okay. I –“ Suddenly, she felt her chest constrict. Her heart hammered in her chest and she couldn’t get enough air. “Oh god, I can’t breathe…”

She bent over and tried desperately to inhale deeply enough. _Please don’t let me pass out. Oh please. Oh pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease_. She felt the tingling start in her hands and feet. _Oh please god no_.

All of a sudden, Richard was pulling her into a standing position and she felt lightheaded.

“Maggie, listen to me. It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe and calm down.”

She had to get him off of her, make him stop talking. _Don’t tell me to calm down, fucker AND STOP FUCKING TOUCHING ME!_ She hit him hard twice in the center of the chest – the first time to catch him off balance and make it easier to shove him away with the second.

“NEVER EVER TELL SOMEONE WHO’S HAVING A PANIC ATTACK TO CALM DOWN! DON’T YOU THINK IF I COULD FUCKING CALM DOWN I WOULD?”

She doubled over again and prayed she could stay conscious. She heard speaking, but the blood was roaring in her ears and she couldn’t make out what was being said. Someone was putting an arm around her shoulders and she flinched until she realized it was someone else. “Maggie? Maggie, it’s Stephen. I’m going to help you breathe, okay? Let’s get you sitting down.”

_Stephen. Stephen will understand. Stephen will help_. She nodded and let him help her over to her car to sit on the boot.

“Remember the 7-11 breathing?” He was standing in front of her and holding her hands. “I’m going to count for you, and you just breathe all right, sweetheart? You just listen to my voice and breathe.”

He started to count – to seven for an inhalation and eleven for an exhalation. Over and over and over and over she breathed and he let her squeeze his hands. Slowly, her body relaxed and her lungs started working normally.

“I’m okay. You don’t need to count anymore,” she said quietly.

“That’s how you knew what to do when I freaked out on you,” Stephen said. “You get panic attacks, too.”

She nodded. “I used to get them all the time. It was almost easier then because I could feel them coming on and try to stop them. But this, I… I didn’t see it coming and I… Oh god, I’m so embarrassed.” She hid her face in her hands and Stephen gently pried them off.

“Hey, look at me. You wouldn’t let _me_ be embarrassed so you don’t get to be either, okay?” He smiled at her and squeezed her hands and she nodded in response. “Are you okay now?” She nodded again. “You want me to drive you home?”

“No, I’m okay. Promise. But thank you.”

“Anytime,” he smiled as she hopped down off the car. “You be careful going home,” he said as he hugged her. She nodded, then watched as he walked away. She dried her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Richard said quietly and she jumped. She figured he’d have left. She wouldn’t have blamed him.

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have… This was all j-” She couldn’t look at him.

“I didn’t know, Maggie. I don’t think I’ve ever been around someone having a panic attack before. If I had known, I’d never ha-”

“No, I know. It’s okay. Really. You had no way of knowing and if you’ve never seen one before… How could you possibly know what to do? And then I…” The reality of what she had done hit her. “Oh god, I hit you. Oh god, Richard. Oh, I’m so sorry. Oh shit…”

“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

“It doesn’t matter, I still hit you! And I shouldn’t have. Oh god, I’m so sorry.” She started to tear up.

“You were scared.”

“But that’s no excuse! There’s no excuse for me hitting you ever! Oh god. I’ll, um…I’ll have someone else work on you from now on and I’ll j– “ _Maybe I'll just get fired._

“Whoa! Hold on there.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “You will NOT have someone else work on me. Okay, _you_ think there’s no excuse, fine, but you’re forgiven anyway, okay? If you can forgive me for being ignorant, I can forgive you for hitting me when you were freaking the hell out, right?” Slowly, she raised her eyes to look at him. “Right?” He spoke more gently this time. She was never sure what it was she saw in his eyes, but as miserable as she felt, she nodded anyway. “Good. Now why don’t you tell me what’s going on? You really didn’t go home?”

She shook her head. “No, I did a fill-in job for five weeks in Sydney then I came back here and just…kinda explored the North Island a little.”

“Why freak out tonight?”

“I got a call from my niece. She’s six and she doesn’t understand why I need to be gone so long. I’ve been gone for long periods before, but you know, I can usually get home at the weekends here and there. Being here, I can’t. And she’s sad and she misses me and I miss her and she’s angry because the timing doesn’t work. When I’m coming into work, she’s not even home from school yet and when I’m finally home for the night, she’s getting ready for school or actually there. And I always used to read to her and she misses that. And I thought I could maybe call her sometimes and read to her so I brought some of her favorite books down with me and we do that on Sundays, but she’s got her heart set on “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” now and that was the one book – the ONE book – that I didn’t bring and it’s September and this is Wellington and where the hell am I going to find a copy of the bloody Grinch? And you probably think I’m really stupid.” _I AM stupid. I’m a grown up and I shouldn’t be standing here in a nearly empty car park ready to burst into tears. Of COURSE he thinks I’m stupid._

“Hey,” he said as he slid an arm around her and this time it didn’t feel quite so weird. “I don’t think there has ever been a _less_ stupid reason for beating up a car and freaking out and hitting a major movie star in the history of the world.” He winked down at her and she managed a short laugh. “You’ll figure something out, Maggie. You’re a problem solver.” He smiled and squeezed her again. “But not tonight. Let me drive you home.”

“No, it’s okay. No, really. I’m fine and if you drove me home then I’d need a ride tomorrow. I can drive.”

“Then I’m following you to make sure you get there.”

“What? No. No, really.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Maggie.” She could have sworn he had just slipped into his Thorin voice and without consciously deciding to do so, she found herself nodding. “Good girl.”

They got into their respective cars and true to his word, he followed her home. He idled in the street as she parked and got out, then beckoned her over and lowered his window.

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” She nodded. “See you tomorrow?”

“Dark and early,” she said with a small smile. “And thanks…Oakenfriend.”

He grinned. “You’re welcome, May-reed.”

Maggie gave him a bigger smile at that, relieved to hear him joke about her name. _Maybe he really did forgive me, though god knows why he would_. She was also relieved he didn’t bat an eye that she had called him friend. She turned and went up to her flat, knowing somehow that he’d wait until she got inside. Once she turned on some lights, she saw him drive away. She contemplated making some dinner, but she was suddenly too tired even to think. She only got as far as the sitting room, where she threw herself down on the couch and was asleep almost immediately.


	7. Dance like no one is watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitchen karaoke, Dr. Seuss, pasta, and _Robin Hood_.

The following Sunday, Lizzie graciously let Maggie off the hook (temporarily) by agreeing to have _three_ books read during their weekly call, coupled with Auntie’s promise to order a copy of “The Grinch” as soon as possible. Maggie got off the phone that morning, still homesick, but feeling better than she had in days. She decided to forego her weekly horse ride in favor of staying home and cooking. Mrs. Wallace, Maggie’s landlady and downstairs neighbor, recommended a good market and she spent a happy hour buying everything she needed for an enormous pot of meat sauce: Roma tomatoes, garlic, onions, beef, loose Italian sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, and a variety of fresh herbs. She even splurged on two kinds of fresh cheese. She could hardly wait to get home and get started.

She’d been existing on whatever she could grab on set and takeaway for so long, she wasn’t sure if she even remembered how to cook. She put on some music – she was in an 80s mood – and got to sautéing and chopping and grating and simmering, singing along and dancing around her wee kitchen as she worked, and it wasn’t long until the air was heavy with the smell of sauce. She was in such a good mood, she even cleaned and did a load of laundry. It wasn’t often that she found herself in Domestic Goddess mode, but when she did, she did it right. A couple of hours later, her home and her clothes were clean, there were fresh sheets on her bed, there would be food to eat, and all was right with the world, so she danced some more. Hers was not the kind of dancing she ever willingly did in public, but she loved to shake it when she was alone. She was even singing into a wooden spoon as she poured the last of her red wine into the sauce. Oops. She was just contemplating whether a wine run was really necessary or could she make do with white when there was a knock on the kitchen door. She ran to turn off the music – which she truly hoped wasn’t audible outside as “I Touch Myself” had just started playing – and went to answer. It was Richard.

“Hi. I- Wow, what are you cooking? It smells amazing!”

“Oh, it’s just some meat sauce I threw together, but it does smell good, doesn’t it?” She smiled. “To what do I owe the honor?”

He grinned. “I brought you something. May I come in?”

“Oh, sorry! Of course,” she said as she stood aside. “You brought me something?” He had a messenger bag with him out of which he pulled a book and handed it to her. It was “The Grinch”. “How did you- _Where_ did you get this?”

“After I followed you here, I went home and ordered it.”

She didn’t know what to say. “I- Thank you. How much do I owe you?”

He waved her off. “Now wait – there’s more. I know you’ve probably already had your weekly phone call because it’s…“ he checked the time “…3 am back home, but I have editing software, “ he said as he pulled his Mac out of the bag. “You record the book and then you can send her the file and she can listen to it whenever she wants. It won’t be the same as having you there, or even on the phone, but maybe it will help some?”

She was touched. Really touched. “I…Wow,” she said quietly.

“Maggie Drummond. Are you speechless?”

“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t happen often, so you should be flattered.” She laughed self-consciously. “Thank you,” she said and sincerely meant it.

“I have time now if you do.”

“Yeah, why not? The sitting room is just through there.” He went in and she followed him. “Oh, you’ll have to move the ears.”

“The _ears??_ ”

She moved around him to the coffee table and scooped up several pairs of tiny prosthetic elf ears. “Ears,” she said as she held them up for him to see. “Your scale double, Mark, has a little girl who’s going to a costume party next Friday night and he asked if I could turn her into an elf. She’s only eight, so I can’t steal a pair out of the workshop – which could get me fired or killed anyway – so I made a few pair. He’s bringing her in during lunch on Friday.”

“God, those are adorable and you’re an absolute sap when it comes to children, aren’t you?” She glared at him, not because he was wrong (he wasn’t), but because she objected to the word sap. “N-not that anyone will hear it from me.”

Maggie cleared off the table and they sat on the couch. Richard turned on his computer and started the software. “You ready?” he asked.

She started laughing. “Okay, this is just weird. I’m essentially doing an audiobook while sitting next to _you_.”

“Shall I fetch you some chamomile? Would you like to warm up? Do you need a bowl with no brown M&Ms?” She laughed even harder. “Woman, are you going to take this seriously or not? This is Dr. Seuss here.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. I apologize.” She cleared her throat and tried to look serious. “I’m ready.”

He started recording and Maggie started reading. She felt a little self-conscious for a moment but quickly got into it…until the first time the Grinch spoke. Before she could read his dialogue, Richard jumped in and did it for her in what may have been the funniest Grinch voice ever. She could only stare, and he kept nodding toward the book to get her to continue.

“What are you doing?”

He stopped recording. “I’m being the Grinch,” he explained, as though it were obvious. “Are you ready for take two?” She was flabbergasted and he had a huge grin. “Well, Maggie Drummond is speechless twice in less than ten minutes.” She tried to think of what to say, but no words came. “Oh come on, what did you expect? How could I let you read the Grinch when I will so obviously do a better job. I’m a professional, you know.”

“I don’t think I can afford a Grinch of your caliber.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m willing to work cheap. Voice work and editing services will run you the sum of one giant Dwarf nose. Which,” he paused to gasp dramatically, “you have already paid.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was just so silly and she told him so. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Nice way to talk to your voice talent. Now, once more from the top?”

She nodded and he restarted the recording. This time, she was prepared for the voice so they were able to get through the whole thing – though she did find it difficult not to laugh in a couple of places. But then, she had the feeling that _he_ found it difficult not to laugh, too.

“Thank you,” she said quietly while he did something technical with the software. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“You’re welcome and I wanted to. I have a nephew,” he added, smiling. “Now, you want to sign me onto your wifi so I can mail you the file and you can send it to your niece?”

“So…about the other night,” she began as she entered her password. “I wanted to say again th-“

“Stop. I told you then that you were forgiven.”

“But I-“

“Did you apologize to Stephen?” he asked, cutting her off abruptly.

“N-no. Why? Is he upset with me?”

“No, but then, neither am I.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t hit Stephen,” she muttered.

“Yeah, about that – that wasn’t stage fighting you did there. That was real.”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Is there a question there?” She got up and straightened a curtain at the window that wasn’t crooked.

“Where did you learn it?”

Maggie shrugged as she looked out the window. “I have older brothers who think because I’m on my own so much that I need to know self-defense. They were both in the army, and when they came home they taught me stuff. It’s no different than learning stage fighting, really.” _Well, there are GRAINS of truth in that answer._

“You were pretty damn smooth with it.”

“They make me practice.” She smiled as she turned back to face him. “Hey, you want to stay for supper? It’s just store-bought pasta, but the sauce is all from scratch.”

“Do you have enough?”

She laughed. “I can feed us both and have enough to freeze that I’ll be able to eat it twice a week, every week until I leave here. And I’ll probably still have some to give my landlady. When I cook, I overcook.”

“I’d love to. Thank you.”

“Great. I just have to run out and get some wine. I used the last of the red in the sauce. I won’t be long.” He offered to go, but she was already pulling a jacket and her purse out of the closet. “No, no, you stay and make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to anything you find – there’s white wine in the fridge or beer. And I’m a Scot so you know there’s whisky in the house.”

“Or I could kick back with some fine children’s literature,” he said while eying the pile of Lizzie’s books Maggie had on an end table.

She laughed as she left. She didn’t have to go far for the wine, and there was a small Italian bakery nearby, too, so she stopped and picked up a tiramisu. She figured if he didn’t like it, she could offer him one of the three kinds of ice cream she usually had in the freezer. It started to pour as she pulled onto her street and there wasn’t a parking spot to be found close to her flat. She dashed through the rain as quickly as she could, but she was thoroughly soaked by the time she got inside. She found Richard in her kitchen boiling water for the pasta.

“I said to get comfortable not cook.”

“I’m boiling water, May-reed. It’s not a hardship. God, you’re soaked.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” she grinned. “If you’re so determined to be helpful, why don’t you open the wine while I go change? I got a pinot noir and a merlot. Your choice.” She handed him a corkscrew.

“What’s in the box?”

“Tiramisu. I hope you like it. I should have asked first.”

“Marry me,” he said with his hand over his heart.

She laughed. “Lovely though that proposal was, I’m afraid I can’t.”

He was uncorking the pinot. “You’re spoken for?”

That made her laugh even harder. “No, not even remotely. But I don’t date actors.”

He grinned. “I didn’t ask you to _date_ me. I asked you to _marry_ me.”

“Technically, you _commanded_ me to marry you. And I don’t take direction well,” she laughed as she went to find dry clothes.

Maggie changed into a pair of leggings and the Charlie’s Army sweatshirt she’d stolen off one of her brothers, and went back to the kitchen. Richard had found wine glasses and poured the pinot and was just adding the pasta to the now-boiling water.

“Okay, I didn’t invite you to dinner to put you to work. I’ll take over now.”

He handed her a glass of wine. “Yes, ma’am… Good lord, don’t they make sweatshirts in your size? That thing could fit three of you.”

She laughed. “I stole it from my brother.”

“And does it actually fit him?”

“Aye. Actually, I think it was a little tight.”

“Which one of you was adopted?”

“Me,” she said as she stirred the pasta. “My real mother abandoned me, but I don’t like to talk about it.” She couldn’t keep a straight face very long because the look on his was too funny. “I’m kidding! The family joke is that by the time my parents got around to making me, there were no size genes left.” She drained the pasta and dished it out, then covered it with a generous portion of sauce and freshly grated cheese. “I’m sorry I have no proper table, so it’ll have to be the sitting room.”

They took the food and wine through and sat on the couch and tucked in.

“Oh god, this is incredible, Maggie.”

“I’m glad you like it because I’m probably going to give you some to take home.”

“Why don’t you just keep it and invite me for leftovers?”

She wasn’t sure why, but that took her aback a little. “I could do that.”

He pointed to her sweatshirt. “So if you’re a part of this army thing, what are you doing here?”

“I needed a day job,” she shrugged. “In the fifteen years since Charlie started the Army, I’ve gotten to use my fight training exactly twice. There’s just not a lot of call for women with weapons, unfortunately, and I never really took to standing around all day just to have three seconds on screen doing woman-y type things. When _Braveheart_ came to town, I spent a lot of time in the crowd tents and I was fascinated with how they did the wounds and the scars and bruises and they’d have these big buckets of blood that they’d fling at people to do arterial spatter. I hung out there every chance I got, even when I shouldn’t have, and I made friends with some of the makeup people. It was because of them that I got started. I still keep up with the fight training, in case I ever need it, but you know, this is a pretty great job. And the Army has an in-house makeup artist.”

“I am _dying_ to see you with a sword in your hand,” he said as he laughed.

“Pretty sure I could kick your sorry arse,” she taunted.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, and I KNOW I could outshoot you with bow and arrow.”

“Oh, it is _on_ , woman. I will annihilate you.”

“Aye, right. So now that I’ve done all the talking, it’s your turn.”

“What do you want to know?”

She thought about it while she poured more wine. “Tell me one thing about yourself that I couldn’t learn by Googling.”

“Wow. Um… Okay. I get asked a lot what I’d be if I wasn’t actor, right? Well, I always answer that I’d be an architect because that’s probably true. But no one ever asks me what I’d be if I could be anything I wanted.”

 _Wow. That’s a little sad_. “So, Richard, what you would be if you could be anything you wanted?”

“Promise you won’t laugh.” Maggie crossed her heart. “In a perfect world where I could be anything, I would be…a rock star,” he said shyly and she could have sworn he even blushed a little.

Whatever she had been expecting, that answer wasn’t it. She cocked her head and looked at him as the corners of her mouth twitched.

“You promised not to laugh!”

“I’m not laughing. I’m picturing.”

“And you can’t, right?”

“Oh no. I can. I don’t even have to try that hard. I’m thinking season three Guy hair, the black poet shirt and the leather pants. The slightly dissipated look from too much drinking and hotel room trashing. The guyliner. Yeah, it’s really not that hard to see rock star potential there.”

“You watched _Robin Hood_?”

“Yes, we have television in Scotland now,” she said, laughing. “Hello, it was people running around the woods with swords and bows and arrows. That’s pretty much right up my street. And besides, my sister-in-law is so in love with you. In fact, if I called her right now and said that Sir Guy was sitting on my couch, even without the leather, she’d –“

“Um, excuse you,” Richard interrupted and lifted his foot on which was a leather shoe.

“I stand corrected. If I called her right now and said that Sir Guy was sitting on my couch, _wearing leather_ , she’d immediately leave her husband and fly down here.”

“Her husband? “ Maggie nodded. “And she’s your sister-in-law?” Maggie nodded again. “So she’s married to your brother?” Another nod. “It wouldn’t be the brother that fits in that sweatshirt, would it?”

“Well, they both do, actually. They’re twins. But he wouldn’t hurt you for it. Well, it’s probably closer to the truth to say he _wouldn’t be allowed_ to hurt you for it. You’re her freebie.”

“Her freebie?”

“Yeah, they have this deal where if she ever meets you and it’s a possibility, she gets to go for it with no repercussions. And actually, you’d be doing Hamish a favor because if she gets you, _he_ gets Scarlett Johansson.”

“So…you’re not going to call her, are you?” He looked adorably unnerved.

“Oh, I don’t have to. She knows you’re Thorin. She asks me all the time if I’ve met you yet and I keep saying you’re aloof and don’t mix with commoners. I’m pretty sure when Lizzie gets the Grinch that she’ll stop believing me, though. Ooh, and now I think about it, Lizzie’s going to fight her for you.”

“What? She’s six!”

“Yes, but to her, you’re the Flat Stanley Man.”

He smiled and it was clear that it pleased him. “She likes _Flat Stanley_?”

“Oh yeah, it’s her favorite book. I used to read it to her all the time, but then she saw you do it and suddenly, I wasn’t good enough for her. Personally, I can’t see the appeal, but as you pointed out, she’s six. She hasn’t developed taste yet.”

“So what I’m hearing is that of the women in your family, the only one not impressed by me would be you.”

“You know, I guess that’s right. But then, I’m the one that knows you,” she grinned.

“You wound me, May-reed. You wound me,” he said with his hand over his heart.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Oakenpout. Would a piece of tiramisu make it all better?”

“It would be a start,” he allowed as she got up and stacked their plates. “Had I known we’d be doing this, I’d have thought to rent a movie.”

“I have movies and I’m sure you could probably find one. We can run my laptop through the telly. “ She crossed the room and got her two DVD folders off a shelf and handed them to him. “Here. Pick whatever you want.”

“Okay, but I’m not picking a chick flick.”

“Oh, uh, sorry – not that folder.” She took one away and put it on the table. “That’s all technical makeup stuff. That folder has the movies, and there’s not a single chick flick in there, smart arse.” She took their plates out to the kitchen and then cut two pieces of tiramisu and went back out. “Find anythi- Oh, you’re kidding.” He was sitting there looking pleased with himself with a DVD dangling off his finger.

“What? I haven’t seen it yet and I heard it was good.”

“You want to watch _Robin Hood?_ Really?”

“Yes, really. I like Ridley Scott’s films.”

“But it’s Robin Hood.”

“Maggie, does it bear any resemblance to _my_ Robin Hood?”

“No, not really.” She smirked. “Spoiler alert: Marian lives.”

He rolled his eyes. “Put the movie in, Maggs.”

Giggling, she did then curled up on her end of the couch with her dessert, and they fell into a comfortable silence as they watched the movie. It was strange – it’s not like she’d never hung out with actors before, but this was different somehow. It didn’t feel like _the actor Richard Armitage_ was sitting on her couch in her tiny furnished flat with his feet on the coffee table. He was just Richard. When the credits rolled, she stretched and he reached for their dessert plates.

“No, leave them. I’ll take care of them after you’ve gone,” she said as she got up to turn off the movie.

“So, the army on the beach…how many of them are you related to?”

“Probably about half. And we had people fighting on both sides. It’s always fun when you’re whacking someone you know.”

“You _are_ going to go home for Christmas, aren’t you?”

The question caught her off guard. “I…Yes, barring some unforeseen price hike. It’s one of the reasons I took the fill-in job in Sydney. I’ll likely even have enough for first class. Livin’ large.” She grinned and he smiled back.

He picked up his computer bag and headed for the door with her following.

“Thanks for dinner, Maggie.”

“Thanks for the audiobook, Richard.”

At the door, he turned to face her. “Promise me something.”

“That depends on what it is.”

“If for some reason you _can’t_ afford to go home for Christmas, you’ll let me know.”

And that caught her even more off guard. “Um…w-why, exactly?”

He gave a gruff laugh. “Why do you think, Maggie? So I can help.”

“That’s…very nice of you to offer, but no.”

“Why not?”

“Because. I wouldn’t feel right doing that. No.”

“You called me ‘friend’ the other night,” he said softly. “Did you not mean it?”

“No, or I mean yes, I meant it. But…being friends doesn’t mean ‘pay for my airfare’.” This was making her highly uncomfortable. She’d hate for him to think she wanted something from him.

“Being friends means helping each other. When you need help, Maggie, all you need to do is ask.”

“Well, thank you, but I won’t. Need it, I mean.”

Clearly, there was only one answer he was looking for and he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he got it. His voice dropped in pitch a little and those blue eyes of his seemed to drill themselves into her as he spoke and he moved in closer so that she had to lift her face to look at him.

“You know, you’re really cute when you think I’m negotiating, but I’m not, so I’ll put it more plainly. You _will_ go home for Christmas, Maggie Drummond. If you can provide yourself with the means to do that, great. If you can’t, then _I_ will provide the means to do it. And if and when I do, you will _not_ fight me on it and you will say ‘thank you, Richard’. Got it?”

In spite of herself, she found herself nodding.

“Good. See you tomorrow, May-reed.”

“Good night,” she said as he opened the door and left.

Maggie watched as Richard got in his car and drove away. It wasn’t the first time that she had agreed to something she had had no intention of agreeing to with him. The man could be damn dangerous when he wanted to, and she was pretty sure his picture should be next to the definition of _commanding presence_. He could be a force of nature at times, and she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those not old enough to have heard The Divinyls (and for those, like me, too old to be able to remember), here's the song Maggie would have been mortified for Richard to hear her singing: [I Touch Myself](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wv-34w8kGPM).


	8. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous Scene 88, or, running, running, and more running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading!

It took eight months for Richard and Maggie to spend time together outside of work, but once they did, it became a regular occurrence and that commanding presence of his could usually be found on a Sunday night, ensconced on Maggie’s couch with a glass of wine in his hand and his feet on the coffee table.

In theory, it probably shouldn’t have worked out that way. They spent such an excessive amount of time together – time which, for him, was frequently unpleasant. They probably ought to have been sick of each other, or at least not eager to see each other more than they had to. But at some point near the end of the day on Saturday, Richard would ask Maggie what her plans were for the next day, and she’d reply either that she felt like cooking or wanted takeaway, and he’d offer to come keep the leftovers to a minimum or volunteer to show up with food. She rather liked that he was equally agreeable to either.

Maggie loved to cook, and it wasn’t that she wasn’t willing to do so whenever he asked, because cooking was always more fun when it wasn’t just for herself, it’s just that she also didn’t want to give up her precious Sunday morning/afternoon riding. Being on a horse was one of her favorite places to be, and riding one around the outskirts of Wellington was one of the best ways to decompress after a long, exhausting week on set. So sometimes Maggie cooked and sometimes they ate from one of the really fabulous takeaway places that were nearby (they never could decide if they liked the Indian or the Italian the best), and one day Maggie picked up a slow cooker on her way home from the stable so she’d have even more options.

If riding was the perfect way to spend the bulk of her Sunday, then hanging out with Richard was the perfect way to end it. There would be food and wine and conversation and movies. There were jokes and laughs and debates and contented silence. Maggie had gotten to know a number of actors over the years, so she’d had plenty of experience seeing the reality behind celebrity, but she’d never known anyone who could be as comfortable just being himself as Richard. There was nothing precious about him, he was merely himself: intelligent, funny, and adorably dorky at times. He spent so much time at her place that she found herself ceding territory in her kitchen (a first for her), and he often worked alongside her, chopping or mixing. And he even occasionally did the dishes.

To Maggie’s surprise, though, it turned out there _was_ something for which she’d give up the occasional riding session. One miraculous day in October, shooting ended early and Graham announced that he’d arranged for Maggie to work with some of the stunties. Ever since he learned of her fight training, he’d pestered her about demonstrating some of her skills. Maggie always begged off on the grounds that there was no time, but then they were knocking off several hours early and he had a few of the stunties ready and willing and she had no choice but to agree, albeit reluctantly. First, they had her doing target practice with bow and arrow. She was rusty and archery had never been her greatest skill, but she thought she did fairly well and at least managed not to embarrass herself. Next up, the swordmaster gave her a wooden practice sword and put her through her paces in stage fighting. She started hesitantly – she had never liked being the center of attention and she’d attracted that from most of the dwarves and a curious Hobbit – but as the swordmaster worked her, she forgot all about her audience. To her delight, she was shortly pronounced capable of sparring and she spent the next hour or so taking on any stuntie willing to face her. Each and every one of them underestimated her at first (men almost always did), but they quickly learned that while she was small, she was fast and fearless, and she was proud that she was able to take out her opponent a little over half the time.

Maggie made several new friends that day and she found herself with a standing invitation to work with them whenever she was free on a Sunday afternoon, so every few weeks she’d give up riding to spar. Those sparring sessions soon proved to be a godsend and necessary to her mental health.

It was hard to believe that just a few days before they were all so excited at the prospect of getting off the soundstage and on location. It turned out to be a classic case of expectation exceeding reality. Scene 88 was destined to be spoken of in hushed, awed tones for years by everyone involved. One day, they might even laugh about it. But it was not this day.

Maggie had gotten used to Richard’s habitual stoicism on set, but as the days on location turned into weeks, it devolved into downright surliness. She knew it was nothing against her personally. She _tried_ to be understanding. It was hot. It was tiring. Tempers were frayed. And Richard was running around in approximately forty-six thousand pounds of costume, prosthetics, hair, weaponry, and sweat. She knew how uncomfortable _she_ was, so it had to be infinitely worse for him. She felt genuinely sorry for him. Until she didn’t.

Maggie was well aware that although she truly loved her job, the people she worked on frequently didn’t. It could be uncomfortable at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times. Actors got tired of being poked and prodded and having their personal space invaded, and she didn’t honestly blame them. She tried to be as quick and unobtrusive as possible during the resets (just as she always did, regardless of the conditions), and did her best not to add to the general irritation of the situation, but when Richard actually _snarled_ and waved her off as she approached him, she couldn’t take it anymore. She knew it was unpleasant, but she had a job to do, dammit.

“The way I see it, you have three choices, Oakenjerk,” she spoke quickly and quietly. She stood slightly off to the side of him so that he could hear her without her having to raise her voice. To anyone watching, it would look like they were just having a leisurely conversation. She may have been angry, but she would never call him out so that anyone could hear if she could help it. He stood staring straight ahead…oh-so-stoically. “One, you suck it up and let me do my job as quickly as I can so that maybe you can have a few minutes to sit and rest. Two, you continue to scowl and snarl at me so that it takes longer and you _can’t_ have a few minutes to sit and rest; or three, I walk away because you won’t let me touch you and then you have to do it all again when they watch the playbacks and realize your nose has peeled off because that’s what it’s about to do. Your choice. I’ll wait.”

His eyes slowly slid sideways to look at her, and no other part of him moved. It was such a thoroughly Thorin thing to do that she might have laughed if she hadn’t been plotting regicide at that moment.

“Do it,” he said with a sneer.

She did. She secured his nose and then did as quick a touch-up of the rest of his face as she could. They never made eye contact and neither of them spoke; and when she was done, she walked away without a backward glance. _Overbearing, arrogant, haughty, autocratic bastard. Acting like he’s doing me some grand favor by “allowing” me to do my job. Bloody imperious arse._

That night, it wasn’t Maggie who removed his prosthetics. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

The next day, she did apply them, but neither of them spoke beyond their simple exchange of “good morning”s. It was clear his knickers were still in a twist and he was suffering her presence because he had no choice. He had been becoming steadily grumpier for a while, and she had put it down to the demands of the role and the conditions in which they were filming; but he had always managed at least a small smile. She knew it was tiring both mentally and physically, and she tried to be understanding and make it as easy for him as she could, but he was sullen in the mornings and downright surly on set. And there were no more Sunday night dinners.

_Whatever. Be that way._

She shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was inevitable that he’d get tired of her and it probably should have happened sooner. It hurt though, because she had been silly enough to believe that they’d truly started becoming friends, but there they were, in the middle of Scene 88 and not only was he no longer friendly, he acted like her presence irritated him.

She had a job to do – a fact she reminded herself of every morning as she drove to work and every night as she drove herself home – and the only thing she could do was get on with it as best she could. If he was annoyed by her, she’d just have to work as quickly and quietly as possible and stay out of his way whenever and wherever she could.

They continued on that way, barely communicating, through the rest of Scene 88 and into the Azanulbizar battle scene. Things didn’t improve between them, but at least Maggie took pleasure in the fact that Thorin was younger for this sequence so she got to do some different things with the makeup. It broke up some of the monotony, at least.

And then one morning, about a fortnight before the Christmas break, Richard reached up and grabbed Maggie by the wrist as she applied glue to the edges of the prosthetic nose and said, “Do you have your ticket home yet?”

She was startled to hear his voice. It seemed like it had been so long since he’d directed it to her. “Y-yes, I do,” she stammered.

His eyes narrowed. “Are you lying to me?”

_How DARE he?_ “No, I’m not lying to you,” she answered and tried to pull her arm free. He only held on tighter.

“First class?”

“Yes,” she hissed. _Not that it’s any of your business_.

He released her and she went back to finishing his face. She worked as quickly and as calmly as she could, but internally, she was calling him every name she could think of. Some of them twice.

A few days later, she was unlocking her car before going home for the night when Richard pulled into the empty space beside her and got out of his car.

“You want to tell me what I’ve done wrong?”

_Oh god, I’m tired. Too tired to deal with a pissed off arsehole. Too tired to argue_. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with feigned calm.

“Don’t you? You’ve been treating me like I’ve got something you don’t want to catch for weeks and I want to know what the hell I’ve done to deserve that.”

She sighed. _Give me strength_. “You haven’t done anything, Richard. I haven’t treated you that way, but I’m sorry if you feel that I have.” She got her door open and threw her bag in the back and started to get in.

“Dammit, Maggie, I thought we were friends. Why the fuck did you decide we weren't anymore? We used to talk. We used to laugh. We used to spend Sunday nights together, for fuck’s sake.”

He sounded so like a petulant child that she wanted to scream. “The only thing that changed about Sunday nights is that you stopped inviting yourself over, Richard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had an epically long day and I’d really just like to go home.” With composure she didn’t feel, she started the car and drove off.

_*I* decided we weren’t friends anymore? That’s not fair! All I’ve done is try to make things as easy as I can for you. YOU were the one who started acting like my very existence offended you. YOU were the one who stopped asking to come over, donkey. YOU are the one who can barely look at me anymore. What have YOU done to deserve this? Fuck you. What have *I* done?_

Maggie tried to let it go. She went home and took a long, hot shower and ate ice cream for supper. She put in _The Princess Bride_ , but she ended up turning if off after only ten minutes. It hurt that he could be so bloody _fickle_ , and it made her angry that she had been stupid enough to think he wasn’t. She tossed and turned all night and arrived at the studio the next morning just as tired as she’d been when she left. _Only a week and a half until I go home. Maybe I’ll forget to come back._

Natalie was there already, getting things in the trailer set for the day. “Ready for another glorious morning with His Royal Crankiness?” Maggie just rolled her eyes in response. “Richard’s always so damn bloody grouchy all the time. I don’t know how you put up with him, Maggs, I really don’t.”

Maggie sighed. “He’s not, though. Not really.” She wondered if she was trying to convince Nat or herself.

“Oh please. He hasn’t said two words to anyone who hasn’t specifically addressed him in weeks.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Maggie had to agree. “But that’s not really _him_. No one who puts as much time and energy into being pissed off like that does so if it happens naturally. But it’s what he needs to do to be Thorin and once he’s gotten himself into that place, he just stays there, I think, because it’s easier for him. I don’t think he means any of it.” _Yeah. Definitely trying to convince myself. And I’m failing._

“Like I said, I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Maggie shrugged. “It’s my job. I just try to stay out of his way.”

Just then, they heard a cough from outside the trailer and the grump himself came in.

“Morning,” Maggie said as Nat made herself scarce. “Music?”

He shook his head and Maggie was relieved. Richard’s music had become increasingly dark and depressing and she was glad to have one morning where she didn’t have to deal with that, too. She got to work, warring with her urge to go as fast as possible to get it all over with and her dedication to doing her job gently and well.

“Oh, you bloody fucking idiot.”

She was startled and nearly pulled the freshly-glued nipple out of his ear. “Oh my god, did I hurt you? Richard, I’m so sorry.” She was appalled at the thought.

“What? No. No, it wasn’t you. I…was thinking out loud.”

“Oh,” she nodded and got back to work.

The morning passed unremarkably, all things considered. They broke for lunch, but Maggie wasn’t hungry and going to the canteen would have meant being more sociable than she felt, anyway. She decided instead to just go sit in the makeup trailer. She had noticed when she braided her hair that morning that it was looking ratty on the ends. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone for a haircut. She sat in her chair with a pair of scissors giving herself a trim.

“What are you doing?”

She hadn’t heard him come in. _Is startling the hell out of me a hobby?_ “What? Oh. Split end maintenance,” she said as she got out of the chair. “Did you need something?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Is something loose? Did one of the nipples shift again?” She laid a hand on his face and turned it to inspect his ear.

“No, that’s all fine. I’m sorry…” he said and took a deep breath. “…for being such a colossal prick.”

“Um…what?” _Did he just say what I think he said?_

“I’ve been an arse and I’m sorry.”

“No, I get the ‘I’m sorry’ bit, but in what way have you been an arse?” She was having trouble processing any of this.

“I’ve been grumpy and distant and…well, bitchy. And it’s not enough to say ‘I’m sorry’ but I am. Very sorry, Maggie.”

She knew she was gaping at him, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “You’ve nothing to apologize for,” she said quietly.

“Yes, I do. I’ve been surly and sullen and I’ve treated you badly and there’s no excuse for that.”

“You haven’t treated me badly,” she said quietly and turned to tidy her work area. Suddenly, she felt very uncomfortable. “You’ve done what you had to do and there’s nothing wrong with that. So there’s nothing to apologize for.” She gave him a small smile in the mirror.

“Maggie, I –“

She needed to stop him – he was making her feel bad. “Hush now, Oakenguilt. You’re playing a moody person who’s under an extreme amount of pressure, and you’re doing it in some less-than-stellar conditions. No one should expect you to be Mr. Sunshine.” She managed a bigger smile. “So no more apologies. You should go eat while there’s still time.”

“But, I –“

She walked over to him and turned him to face the door. “Go. Eat. Richard.”

Thankfully, he went. She didn’t know what she’d have done if he’d gone all stubborn and refused. She felt absolutely horrible. Those awful things she’d thought and then there he was trying to be all nice and she couldn’t handle it. Never mind that he’d done _another_ one-eighty. It was enough to make her dizzy. _Will the real Richard Armitage please stand up?_

The rest of the day went quickly, and Richard didn’t try apologizing anymore. Maggie was glad because she couldn’t have handled that. She knew it was cowardly, but she chivvied Nat into removing his prosthetics that night and Maggie high-tailed it out of there as soon as she decently could, refusing offers to go for a drink in favor of Thai takeaway. She got home and pulled her bag and the food out of her car and started the short walk to her flat…and stopped dead when she saw Richard leaning against his car, clearly waiting for her. _Oh god, not now. Please, I can’t handle him now._

“This isn’t another apology, is it?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “It’s the same apology, actually. And there’s this,” he said and handed her an envelope.

She eyed him warily. “What is it?”

“It’s a gift. Open it and find out.”

_Are you fucking kidding me? Yesterday, you couldn’t talk to me and now we’re doing a gift exchange???_ “Oh, crap, Oakenclaus. You didn’t tell me we were doing Christmas presents!”

“It’s not a Christmas present, it’s an _apology_ present.”

She handed it back to him. “I’ve told you that you have nothing to apologize for, so there’s no need for an apology present.”

She thought she saw something that looked suspiciously like amusement flash across his face. “Maggie, would you take it? Please?”

She sighed and took the envelope and opened it. “A day at a spa? Are you for real? I can’t take this!”

“Why not? Is there some rule against it?”

“No, but this is…well, beyond being totally unnecessary, it’s too much. Well, I assume it is, it doesn’t actually say what it’s for.”

“That’s because it’s for whatever you want. You can go in the morning and stay all day and do anything you want. Have a massage. Or two. Or get a manicure. Or have a _proper_ haircut. Or do all of the above.”

“Richard, this is silly.”

“No, it isn’t. Look, I’ve been a dick to you and I’m sorry for that and I’m sorry for taking so long to realize it. And I know you think I don’t have to apologize for it, but I _do_ have to apologize for it and I want to make it up to you. I know that maybe this isn’t the best way to do that, but then, you shouldn’t be cutting your split ends off on your lunch hour, and you shouldn’t look as tense as you do. So take a day and take care of yourself and relax. Please.”

She had no idea what to say. She also had a maddening urge to cry for some reason. “Okay, okay. You’re right – I _don’t_ think you need to apologize but _you_ do, so you’re forgiven. But this…” She shook her head. “Friends don’t need presents to forgive.”

“Maggie, I want to.”

“And I don’t want you to, so please, take it back.”

“Nope,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Richard, this is stupid. It’s far too extravagant for something for which we can’t even agree if you have cause to apologize.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that extravagant, and besides, it’s my money and can do what I want with it.”

“Richard, I’m not taking this.”

“Maggie, just take it.”

“No,” she held it out for him.

“Dammit, Maggie! Do you have to be so bloody stubborn every second of the day?”

“It’s one of my charms. Now, take this back.”

“Why is it so bad that I want to do something nice for you? Why can’t you ever let me help?” He was yelling so she yelled right back.

“Why is it so bad that I don’t want anything from you? Don’t you have enough people around you who do?”

“And that right there is exactly why I want to do it,” he said, very quietly and there was pain in his eyes that took her breath away.

_Oh_. “I, um…” She bit her lip, and in that moment, her heart broke just a little for him. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Good. They open at 10 tomorrow, so you should get there as close to that as you can. Don’t just get one thing, get many things. Hell, get _everything_. Now, go eat before your food gets cold,” he smiled and got in his car. She could only stand there and wave as he pulled away.

If she hadn’t been so tired, she might have wondered how in the hell he had made her do something she had no intention whatsoever of doing. If she hadn’t felt that it was important to him, and though she had no clue why on earth it was, she might have come up with some excuse – _any_ excuse – why she couldn’t make it to the spa the next morning; but it clearly was important to him, so she went.

Maggie felt odd walking in, but the people were friendly and the place was beautiful. The prices, however, were obscene. She’d already decided that she’d get a haircut because she needed one so desperately, but she had no idea how she’d fill the whole day with things that didn’t give her a coronary when she thought about the prices. She wasn’t poor by any stretch and was blessed enough to afford some luxuries here and there when she wanted them, but there were luxuries and there were luxuries and she was way out of her depth. She settled on picking things that were either the cheapest or would take the most time and tried not to worry about it. She had hot stone in the morning, followed by a facial and a manicure (she’d have gotten a pedicure – it was one of the few things that seemed to her to be reasonably priced – but she couldn’t stand having anyone touch her feet), lunch, Swedish massage in the afternoon, and lastly, highlights and a haircut. She felt guilty about it for all the way to about five seconds. She knew she should regret that, but it was all so calming and soothing and relaxing and felt so damn good and when would a chance like this ever happen again and then they used chocolate-scented oil for the Swedish massage and… _Oh god, this is the best day of my entire life_. She was feeling so good, she told the hairstylist to go ahead and chop off four inches.

Maggie left the spa relaxed, happy, and – here’s a thought she _never_ had – looking damn fine. She ran home and changed into one of the few nicer outfits she’d brought to New Zealand and called Nat and told her she’d pick her up for dinner. She felt too damn good about herself to spend another night in front of the telly alone.

Natalie was waiting on her porch and was properly stunned by the change in Maggie’s appearance. “Oh my god, look at you! You’re so… LOOK AT YOU!!”

Maggie blushed. “Okay, please tell me it’s a good thing and not a bad one?”

“Are you kidding? You look _amazing_. What the hell happened today?” Maggie told her on the drive to the restaurant. “Wait – _Richard_ did this? Richard Armitage? Grump Under the Mountain?” Maggie nodded. “Because he feels bad for the way he’s treated you? Is that all?”

“What? Yes, that’s all. What else is there?” Her eyes went wide as she caught Nat’s look and realized what she was asking. “No. Oh, no. Unh unh. Absolutely not. That would _never_ occur to him and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t do actors.”

Natalie was unimpressed. “Uh huh. And does Richard know this?”

“Yes. I mean, I think he does. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it.”

“So you mean to tell me that if he offered, you wouldn’t take him up on it?” Maggie nodded. “You _have_ noticed he’s gorgeous, haven’t you?”

Maggie laughed. “Hell, I knew that before I ever met him! Can we go in now? I’m hungry.”

As they waited to be seated, Natalie scanned the room and elbowed Maggie in the ribs. “Well, what do you know? Look who happens to be here with Graham and Jimmy.”

“Okay, stop that look right now,” Maggie said as she laughed. “I have to work on his face in the morning.”

They were shown to their table. Clearly, Natalie wasn’t done having a laugh. “So, do you think he’s seen you? Is he looking now? Is he undressing you with those blue eyes? Ooh, did you wiggle your arse as you walked by?”

Maggie was giggling. “For god’s sake, Nat, stop! I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.”

Natalie took pity on her and did indeed stop teasing. While they sat, Maggie refused to allow herself to look in the direction of Richard’s table. Before the food arrived, Natalie excused herself to go to the ladies’, which was fortunate because it turned out he _had_ seen them and came over to chat.

“I’m glad you used it.”

She smiled up at him. “You might not be when you get the bill.”

“Worth every penny,” he said and smiled back. “You look good – very relaxed.” She beamed. He could have gone with some bullshit about her being pretty or something else she’d never have believed, but he didn’t and she liked that.

“Thank you. Not just for the compliment, either. It was a very nice day.”

It was the truth – it _had_ been a very nice day. It had been wonderful, and if he went back to being irritable and cranky tomorrow, at least he’d given her that. She felt relaxed and happy and confident, and for that night at least, everything was right with the world.


	9. Happy X-mas (War Is Over)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays.

Richard did not, in fact, go back to being irritable and cranky. He was…well, _reserved_ was probably a good word for it, but he wasn’t grumpy and he stopped snarling. Maggie figured that having only one week to go before the Christmas break probably had something to do with that.

There was a get-together planned for after they wrapped shooting on the last day, but Maggie skipped it. She had booked the earliest flight she thought she could make, and had just enough time to check in and get through security, if she hurried. _Good thing my luggage is already in the car._

She’d had no time to talk to Richard. She’d had no time to talk to anybody, really, but considering they’d all be back just after the first of the year, it didn’t seem too important. No doubt the time would fly by, and she was never much good at goodbyes anyway.

 _You didn’t say goodbye_.

Maggie read Richard’s text as she sat at the gate waiting for her flight to board. _No time - was afraid I wouldn’t get through security in time to make the flight. I’m sorry_.

 _A likely story. Travel safe, and let me know when you’re home, please_.

Maggie smiled. _Yes, Dad. You could do the same, too, please_.

_Yes, Mum. :-)_

Maggie giggled a bit at the image of a 40-year-old movie star using a smiley in a text, but it also made her feel good to know someone cared enough to want to know when she was home safe. She’d have to try to remember to text him when she got home…if she ever got there. Maggie found it ironic that at a time when the world seemed its smallest, it still took approximately thirty-seven months to travel from New Zealand to Scotland. She had never been overly fond of air travel, and flying over almost half of the globe seemed a particular torture, but she had to admit that the perks of first class made it somewhat bearable. It still took too long and she found herself wishing that molecular travel à la _Star Trek_ was a possibility, but she did, finally, make it; and when Lizzie launched herself into Maggie’s arms, every second instantly became worth it.

She was home. Three hundred and forty days after she left, she was finally, blessedly home. She hadn’t meant to be gone so long – the longest she’d ever been away, as a matter of fact – and now that she was there, she wasn’t really sure how she survived. It was a good thing that she’d been so busy all the time, she supposed. But now she was home, with nothing to do other than enjoy it. There were trees to decorate, and baking to do with Auntie Fiona; too much food to eat and too many pints to lift; presents to buy and wrap; her beloved horse, Prancer, to ride and take care of; new books to read to Lizzie and now that she was learning to read, books to listen to; her Mum and Dad, who had flown up from their retirement villa in Spain to catch up with; friends to visit; and mostly, there was her sister-in-law Morag.

Maggie and Morag had been friends since they’d both struggled through Miss Eleanor Cameron’s Scottish Country Dance class when they were nine. Actually, “friends” didn’t do it justice - they were each the sister they’d both always wanted: Morag because she was an only child, and Maggie because her four-years-older twin brothers didn’t want her tagging along all the time. They’d forged a bond over a shared inability to make their feet do what Miss Eleanor wanted them to, preferring to giggle and share secrets instead of practicing, and they’d rejoiced when Miss Eleanor gently advised them to stop coming to class. Since then, they’d gotten each other into and out of trouble, laughed and cried together, offered support or a good arse-kicking as needed, argued, and had each other’s back. And to hear Maggie tell it, it was down to her that Morag had married Hamish and brought Lizzie into the world.

Morag and Hamish had had an on-again/off-again relationship for years. They would have described it as “friends with benefits” but Maggie knew better. They were both crazy in love but unwilling to admit it out loud and make the commitment to having a permanent relationship…until Morag found out she was pregnant. She’d reluctantly told Hamish who’d immediately asked her to marry him. She’d said no, though, because – she’d said, loudly enough for the whole district to hear – she didn’t need anybody’s pity proposal. Hamish had been devastated, not that he’d let Morag know. If there was one thing Hamish had more than his fair share of, it was pride, and he wasn’t about to let “that harpy” know she’d wounded it. They’d walked around miserably for weeks until Maggie lured each of them to one of the barns and locked them in overnight. She’d let them out the next morning and they emerged moony-eyed and planning the wedding which took place two weeks later. Six months after that, Lizzie was born.

The downside to it was that, after they’d returned from a long weekend on the Isle of Man (the only honeymoon Hamish could afford at the time), Morag had spent almost every day from then on nagging Maggie about being single; so she wasn’t at all surprised that the first words out of Morag’s mouth as they sat in the pub on Maggie’s first night home were, “tell me ye’ve met someone in New Zealand.”

“I’ve met lots of someones in New Zealand, Morag. There’s mebbe two thousand people workin’ on this film.” It had taken approximately 0.3 seconds after her arrival in Scotland for Maggie’s accent to return in full force.

Morag rolled her eyes. “Aye, but are ye _datin’_ any of them?”

“Ye know I dinnae date anyone I work wi’.”

“Okay,” she said with exaggerated patience. “What about someone you _don’t_ work wi’?”

Maggie laughed. “My days start at four am an’ I dinnae leave until eight or nine PM an’ that’s six days a week. What time is there tae date?”

“You cannae spend your whole life alone, Mairead.”

“I’m no’ alone, Morag. Two thousand people workin’ on th’ film, remember?”

Morag let it go…for the moment. “So…speaking of people ye work with, what’s Richard Armitage _really_ like? And how the hell did you get him tae do the Grinch voice? Ye said ye hadn’t even met him.”

Maggie laughed again. “That was self-defense. If ye thought I’d not met him, ye wouldnae badger me wi’ questions about him. An’ it was his idea. He knew I was upset because Lizzie was upset, so he bought th’ book an’ suggested I record it…what?”

Morag was gaping at her. “ _He_ bought the book because he knew ye were upset? Just how well do ye two know each other?”

“Well, no’ like that! God, Morag, get yer mind out th’ gutter! I…sort of…do his prosthetics…most of th’ time.” She avoided Morag’s eyes and took a long drink of her ale.

“Ye…WHAT? Oh, ye rat! Why didn’t ye TELL me? What’s he like? Is he nice? Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on telly? Does he smell good? How blue are his eyes really? My god, ye get to _touch_ him! How does he feel?”

“And…this would be why I didnae tell ye,” Maggie said, laughing. “Calm down, sister! Yer gonnae pop an aneurysm here.”

“How do ye stand it? I mean, he’s so… _him_.”

“Aye, he is. He’s very him all right.” Maggie couldn’t help but be amused. Morag was reacting exactly how she knew she would.

“So, let me get this straight…ye work on him and then he does an audiobook for ye for yer niece. Are ye sure ye two aren’t…?”

“NO, Morag! I dinnae date people I work wi’ an’ even if I did, it wouldnae be an actor! He’s just a nice guy an’ we’re just mates.”

“But he’s _gorgeous_ , Mairead!”

“I know he is, ye daftie. But that doesnae mean there’s anything going on,” she laughed. “He could have any woman he wanted – including you, may I remind ye – he doesnae need me. Besides, I glue shit to his face for two hours every day. I annoy him more often than no’.”

“But –“

“No buts. He’s nice, he’s probably slightly more beautiful than he looks on telly - if ye can believe it, he doesnae smell so good after a day’s filmin’, his eyes are ridiculously blue, and how he feels? I dinnae really know. I’ve not thought about it.”

“Not thought about it! How in the hell have ye not thought about it? What is _wrong_ wi’ ye?”

“I have to _work_ wi’ him, Morag. I cannae be thinking the kind of thoughts ye want me tae think.”

Morag just shook her head, convinced no doubt, that Maggie was mentally deficient. They’d finally gone home at closing time. As Maggie let herself in to her house, looking forward to a night spent in her own bed and hoping the jetlag wouldn’t make her sleep the next three days away, her phone beeped.

_Where are you? Are you home yet? Why haven’t you texted me?_

_Oh shit, I’m SO sorry! Too excited to be home and never thought. I’m home in one piece. Forgive me?_

His answer came almost instantly. _You scared me to death._

_I’m sorry. Truly._

That time, the reply took longer. _Just glad you’re okay._

_I am. Have a safe flight._

_Thanks, May-reed._

_:-)_

She got ready for bed feeling honestly contrite about forgetting to text. She really should have set a reminder on her phone, but oh well. He had two weeks to get over it...

_Maggie felt cool tile against her bare back. They were in the shower and her wrists were held above her head in one large hand. Her legs were wrapped around his hips as he thrust himself into her over and over, and she reveled in the contrasting sensations of his soft lips and tongue and his scratchy beard against the sensitive skin of her neck._

_“I want to hear you scream my name,” he growled into her ear as he released her hands._

_She moaned as he started pumping faster and she buried her now-freed hands deep in his long, raven hair and pulled his head back hard so she could kiss him, and suddenly she was looking into eyes glazed with lust that were so ridiculously blue…_

She woke, panting and in a sweat. Had she just…? Was that…? Were they…? Oh god, what the hell just happened? Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. She had sex dreams on a semi-regular basis, but she never ever saw the face of the person she was with…until now. Why now? Why… _him_? And why in the actual hell was it Thorin’s hair but a face that was clearly prosthetic- and makeup-free and obviously Richard’s?

_Don’t think about it. Do. Not. Think. About. It. Do not think about the fact that you just had a dream about shower sex with Richard. Do not think about the fact that you were simultaneously way more submissive AND dominant with him than you ever are in real life. Don’t. Just don’t. And definitely don’t tell Morag about it._

Morag. It was all _her_ fault, this. For asking what he was like to touch and how he smelled and suggesting that there might be something going on between them. Yeah, that was it. Morag had planted a seed and her subconscious had run with it, driven, no doubt, by the fact that she hadn’t had sex in…god, she couldn’t even remember when the last time was, though she knew it hadn’t been very satisfying. And she had been so tired lately – too tired to take care of things on her own without falling asleep in the middle of it. And then he had texted her right before bed and…yes, it was a perfect storm, really, with everything conspiring to create a highly inappropriate dream. In fact, it was almost a wonder it hadn’t happened before. She went to the bathroom and splashed some cool water in her face and went back to bed, vowing not to think about it anymore. Besides, now that her subconscious had dealt with it, it was over and done with and wasn’t likely ever to happen again. _Still, best not to tell Morag_. She’d get a kick out of it, but she’d almost certainly take it to mean Maggie had a “thing” for Richard. Which she most assuredly did not.

The next time Maggie woke, it was to the sound of her phone beeping and she’d slept most of the day away.

_SOME people can remember they said they’d text when they got home. I’m home, by the way, and I’VE remembered to text._

_Yeah, yeah. Good to know, but how long do you plan to dine out on this?_

_As long as I want._

Maggie grinned. She had no doubt Richard would milk her oversight as much as he could, but it amused instead of irritated her for some reason. _Probably best not to tell Morag about the texting, either._

The next few days passed in a blissful blur of family, friends, and food. She worked off some of that food by sparring with some Army members, and drove back with Hamish to find Morag waiting for them with a package in her hand and a bemused expression.

“So…would ye like to tell me why my daughter’s gettin’ mail addressed to her in care of ‘her Auntie’?”

Maggie frowned. “I’ve no idea. I’ve no’ ordered anythin’.”

“Oh, I didn’t think ye did. It’s addressed to ‘Miss Lizzie Drummond, care of her Auntie’ and the return address is in Leicester,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“Leicester? I dinnae know anybody in Leicester.”

“No? No one with the initials of,” she made a great show of reading off the package. “R-C-A?”

Maggie’s jaw dropped. “I’ve no idea what that’s about.”

“Who’s R-C-A in Leicester and why is he or she sendin’ my daughter a package?” Hamish wanted to know.

“It’s Mairead’s boyfriend,” Morag teased.

“Ye have a boyfriend and ye didnae think to mention it?”

“He’s not…she’s just…oh, just open the bloody package already.”

Morag handed it over. “It’s not addressed to me.”

Maggie rolled her eyes as she took the package. It was a large padded envelope. She broke the seal and pulled out what was obviously a book wrapped in some truly hideous Christmas paper.

“So he sends Christmas presents to yer niece,” Morag was more entertained by the minute.

Hamish was confused. “Would someone like to tell me who this person is?”

“I’m sorry, my love,” Morag said as she patted his arm. “But I think ye’ve just lost out on Scarlett Johansson.”

It took a few seconds for it to register. “OH! That bloke? Ye mean she and him are…”

“ _She_ is standin’ right here, and _she_ and him arenae anything. We work together, that’s it. He knows Lizzie likes stories, that’s all. Jesus, you two.”

She stomped off to find Lizzie with Morag and Hamish trailing behind. She found her singing “Away in a Manger” in front of the Christmas tree, using a jump rope as a microphone.

“Hey, ladybug, ye got a package in the post.”

“I did? Who’s it from?”

“My friend Richard,” Maggie answered, putting just the slightest emphasis on the word friend for her parents’ benefit.

Lizzie’s face lit up. “The Flat Stanley Man! Or wait…Mam told me to ask if I could call him Mister Richard in my thank you note. Did you know I wrote a thank you note? Oh wait, of course you did because I sent it to you to give to him. I did it all by myself although Da had to spell some of the words for me, but I did all the writing and no one helped me with that can I open my present now?”

Maggie handed it over and Lizzie made short work of ripping through the paper. It was a copy of “The Giving Tree” and when Lizzie opened it, a CD fell out.

“Oops!”

Maggie suggested they look to see if Richard had written anything inside the book, and Lizzie found the inscription and slowly read it out.

“To Lizzie, who…may in-indeed…call me M-miss-ter R-richard. You can list…”

“Listen.”

“ _Listen_ to the CD and fall..follow along with…the book. Happy. Christmas. Can I listen now, Da? Can I?”

Hamish nodded and took the CD from her and went to put it in the stereo as Morag looked at Maggie with a particularly shit-eating grin on her face.

“Oh for god’s sake, Morag. He has a nephew. He probably made one for him an’ figured it wouldnae take any more effort to make two an’ buy a copy for Lizzie. Stop lookin’ at me that way.”

Maggie was given a reprieve as the audio started, and she tried to pretend that that voice reading about a tree who loved a boy wasn’t the damn sexiest thing she’d ever heard in her entire life. When the book was over, Lizzie commanded Maggie to make a video of her saying thank you that she could send to “Mister Richard” because it would be much better than some boring old thank you note. Maggie was only too happy to act as cinematographer and avoid the myriad questions she knew she’d be asked, and that night during family dinner, she announced that since she only had such a short amount of time left at home, that she didn’t want to talk about New Zealand or _The Hobbit_ anymore. She made said announcement while pointedly not looking at either Morag or Hamish.

The truth was, she didn’t want to think about Richard as anything other than someone she worked with first and a friend second, and they (especially Morag) were making that difficult. But her rules existed for a reason – getting involved with someone you worked with just made things unnecessarily messy and complicated. Sure, it didn’t hurt to let yourself fantasize once in a while, but what was the point in doing so about someone you could never have and would have to spend time with in some overly close situations? That was just masochism and she wasn’t into that. So Maggie spent the rest of her time at home steadfastly refusing to talk (or even _think_ ) about Mister Richard.

All too soon, the time came to pack and get ready to leave. She consoled herself with the fact that it wouldn’t be as long this time – six or seven months, tops – but she’d be a liar if she said she hadn’t thought about not going back. Even though this shoot was already the length of three or four normal ones, she’d never not finished a job and she supposed this wasn’t the time to start. Her only complaint was that it was so far away, really, and that wasn’t a good enough reason to quit. Besides, she’d miss hi-… _it_. She’d miss _it_ – working on a Tolkien production, that is, and she’d be a fool to slam shut the doors that would open for her once she added that to her CV. So as much as it hurt, and it hurt a LOT (especially with Lizzie), she said goodbye and once again boarded a plane that would take her half the world away.


	10. Welcome Back to Middle-Earth

Somewhere over the Indian Ocean, Maggie had an idea. Actually, first she marveled over the fact that she, little Mairead Drummond of Denny, Scotland, was flying over the Indian Ocean, _then_ she had an idea. She had been trying to think of something she could do for or give to Richard as a thank you for recording “The Giving Tree” for Lizzie, but the problem was, what in the world could that possibly be? She thought of, and dismissed, half a dozen ideas before one she liked came to her; and thanks to her decision to go back to New Zealand a bit early to help mitigate the jetlag, she’d even have time to implement it.

A couple of days later, Maggie got a text.

_Are you back yet? If not, when will you be?_

_Happy New Year to you, too. I’ve been here for days, Oakenslacker. ;-)_

_Oh. Dinner?_

_Coq au vin will be ready at 6._

_You are the absolute best._

_Hardly._

_We can argue the point later, May-reed._

Maggie was pouring a glass of wine when Richard knocked.

“It’s open,” she yelled and then handed him the glass when he walked in.

He frowned. “Am I _that_ predictable?”

“You’re very prompt when food is involved, yes. Come through – I have something for you, and if Lizzie were to find out you were here any longer than thirty seconds without me giving it to you, my life would not be worth living.” Maggie led the way into the sitting room where she had left Lizzie’s picture. “Et voila, the other part of the thank you. It was much, _much_ too important to trust to the post and absolutely _had_ to be hand-delivered.”

“That video was perfect - so bloody cute,” he said as he took the picture. “But who was the woman speaking on it? Was that Morag?”

“No, that was me. I did the video on my phone.”

He frowned at her. “You? It didn’t sound like you. It sounded too…Scottish.”

“Hey!” she shouted, feigning outrage.

“No, I didn’t mean-“

“Och, I ken what ye meant. I got tired o’Sassenachs like you always complainin’ ye cannae unnerstan’ me, so I tone it down when I’m awa’ frae hame,” she said with a wink.

Richard smirked. _That damn Armitage smirk_. “Ah unnerstood e’erything ye jist said, an’ I ken weel that ‘Sassenach’ isnae a nice thing to call someone.”

Maggie laughed. “That was fairly well done. Top marks. Now, would you please look at your picture so I can honestly report to Lizzie that I gave it to you IMMEDIATELY upon your return and not get into trouble with her?”

He obligingly turned his attention to the picture. “Well, that’s obviously her. Is she…is that a stereo? She’s listening to the CD?”

Maggie nodded and pointed. “And reading along.”

“And that’s me…with Gisborne hair?”

“Yep. Morag wanted her to draw season three hair, but Lizzie prefers season one.”

Richard laughed. “And what am I doing? Oh, I’m reading. Right. But what’s this above my head?”

“Some king you are – don’t even recognize your own mountain. That’s Erebor. _Obviously_. You’re _under_ it. Get it?”

“That’s…wow,” he said, laughing. “That’s bloody brilliant. She knows the story? You’ve read it to her?”

Maggie shook her head. “Not yet. She knows the basic story, but she didn’t have the attention span for even half a chapter until recently, and I wasn’t home long enough to finish it so we didn’t start. Hamish said he’d read it to her, but she told him since he hadn’t been to Middle-Earth, he wasn’t properly qualified.”

Richard laughed again. “You were just like her at that age, weren’t you?”

“Oh no. I was _way_ more obnoxious and not even half as cute. My brothers can attest to that,” she said in answer to his dubious look. “I, um, I have something for you, too, actually. It’s, um, nothing really too wonderful, but…” She handed him a gift bag that had been sitting on the coffee table. “It’s just a wee thank you for thinking of Lizzie. It kinda seemed like a better idea when I had it. Now, it seems kinda lame…” She waited, uncomfortably, while he pulled the framed picture out of the bag.

“Is this…Mt. Ruapehu? From the _top_ of one of the ski areas?” She nodded. “You said you didn’t ski!”

“Oh, I most definitely don’t. I tried it once and it was decided for the benefit of the entire planet that I never do it again. But most of the skiers I’ve known…well, you’re always so focused on the run itself that most of you don’t take the time to enjoy the view. I thought maybe, you know, a keepsake…”

“But it’s not winter. How did you…? When did you…?”

“Three days ago,” she laughed. “You’ll notice the distinct lack of snow. Or skiable snow, anyway. Obviously, it would have been better had I had this idea during the winter, but… Hey, I could maybe get one of the graphics people to put snow in the picture…”

“Don’t you dare! This is perfect the way it is, but how in the hell did you manage this?”

“I hiked.” She had to laugh at his incredulous look. “Hey, I happen to come from good Highland stock. We’re born hikers. And besides, they run the lifts in the summer for hikers who want to see the crater, so I didn’t even have to do the whole mountain. I did have to charm my way into the ski area. There’s a caretaker who I was willing to bribe – I had a hundred poun…sorry, dollars in my pocket for that very purpose, but he was cute and we flirted and it ended up only costing me my phone number.” She grinned, pleased with herself.

Richard seemed less so. “You gave the guy your phone number?”

“Yeah. Like I said, he was cute.”

“What do you even know about this guy, Maggie? What if he’s a psychopath?”

She laughed. “What do I know about any guy I’d give my number to? What if I met him in a bar or at the market or at a red light? I gave him my mobile number, not my address. If he wants to stalk me, he’d have to be pretty dedicated to do it.”

“Still…”

“Oh relax, Oakendad. He hasn’t called and we go back to work in two days and there won’t be any time once we do, anyway.” She wasn’t _really_ disappointed – he was cute and it had been fun flirting, but she wasn’t looking to start anything. Still, it would have been a welcome ego boost if the guy had at least _tried_ to ask her out. “Supper is ready,” she said as she headed back out to the kitchen. “I’ll bring it out.”

She was ladling the coq au vin into a soup plate when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“Hey. I didn’t say thank you.”

She shrugged without looking at him and gave a small laugh. “You just did.”

His hand moved from her shoulder to her chin and he gently turned her to face him. “Thank you, Maggie. The picture is beautiful,” he said quietly.

Maggie had no idea what she was seeing in his eyes in that moment, but she’d have sworn that whatever it was, it stopped her heart for a split second. But then the look was too intense, too… _something_ and she turned back to the stove with a shaky laugh. “You’re welcome. I probably should have just gotten a frame for Lizzie’s picture instead, though. Here,” she handed him the plate without looking at him. “There’s crusty bread on the counter and butter in the crock.”

He took the food and moved to the counter to get some bread while Maggie ladled out another portion and struggled to get her breathing under control. That look had been… _no, don’t think about it. Just breathe. What is he saying?_

“…going on my refrigerator with her thank you note. I probably _will_ frame it eventually, though.”

“What? Richard, I was kidding,” she said, laughing.

“I wasn’t. It’s sweet. When a little kid does something like that on their own, you know they’re really grateful. This was obviously a big deal to her, and it should be a big deal to me, too.”

She looked at him properly then, searching his face for any trace of sarcasm or humor, but there was none. He truly meant it.

She smiled as she buttered a piece of bread. “Well, she doesn’t draw her pictures for just _anyone_ , it’s true. But then, she does plan to marry you, so I guess seeing as you’re more or less engaged, you’re worthy of artwork.”

“Excuse…me?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, you’re her hero. She loves a good story more than anything else in life, and you read to her without even being asked and you’ve never even met. What little girl _wouldn’t_ fall in love with that?” Maggie carried her food and a glass of wine through to the sitting room and plopped on the couch with him following behind, mouth agape. “I’m not sure whether she’d prefer the Gisborne wedding kit or Harry Kennedy’s, though. She was waffling on that point when I left. Morag, of course, is having a difficult time with all of this. She had been rather picturing you as a future step-father for Lizzie and she’s not adjusting so well to the news that you’ll be her son-in-law.” Maggie sipped her wine to hide her smirk.

Richard laughed. “God, your brother must want to _kill_ me.”

“He thinks it’s all pretty hysterical, actually,” Maggie laughed. “Did you ever know two people who are just so disgustingly _meant_ to be together? That’s Morag and Hamish,” she said when Richard nodded. “So there’s a whole lot of room for ridiculousness between them, you know, because no matter what either of them says, they’ll always be together and they both know it. Though I daresay he’s got to be at least a little disappointed at losing out on Scarlett Johansson,” she added with a giggle.

“I think I really want to meet these people…though I think I’d like it to be without anyone authorized to perform a wedding ceremony within a fifty kilometer radius just to be safe. With my luck, I wouldn’t even end up with your sister-in-law or your niece. I’d end up married to your brother.”

Maggie laughed so hard she almost spit wine all over him. “Oh god! What a lovely couple you’d make, too!”

They ate, sharing stories of their time home for the holidays. Maggie laughed at Richard’s description of how his dad had almost set his cuffs on fire when he lit the pudding at Christmas dinner, and he laughed at her description of the ugly sweaters her mum had knitted for the twins.

“So,” he said as he finished eating. “Any chance there’s some of that dark chocolate ice cream in your freezer?”

Maggie rolled her eyes at his puppy dog look. “Hello! Have we met?” She took their empty dishes to the kitchen and came back with two generous portions of ice cream. “Now that I’ve fed you and plied you with chocolate, there’s something I wanted to say.”

He looked at her over his spoon. “This sounds serious.”

“It is, a bit,” she said after a bite of ice cream. “The last…month or so of shooting…I think maybe I did take it a little personally, and that was wrong and unprofessional of me and I…I don’t know. I think maybe I was a little more homesick than I even realized and it skewed how I reacted to things. That may be a reason, but it’s no excuse, and I’m sorry. I – “

“Maggie, you don’t have anyth-“

“No, hush. Let me finish, please, because I haven’t even gotten to my actual point yet. I’ve read the book, more than once, and I know what’s coming. And unless Peter is going to take some giant steps away from Tolkien…well, your job’s only going to get harder as time goes on. It’s inevitable. You have to do whatever you need to to be Thorin and I respect that. That’s your job: to be Thorin – and you’re doing it in a way that’s infinitely more detailed and layered than the original. My job is to help you look the part and then get the fuck out of your way and let you get on with it. So if what you need is to get into Thorin’s head and stay there, then you do that and don’t worry abou- …not that I think you’re losing any sleep over me, but…well, you won’t owe me any apologies afterward. Or spa days – which was pretty much pearls before swine, anyway,” she added with a laugh. “What I’m saying is I know it’s not you. You’re not surly or aloof or any of those other adjectives I used to describe you to Morag – which she no longer believes, by the way, so good going there. You’re not even as moody as you like to tell people you are. You’re a guy who reads to wee girls. You’re a guy who arranges a spa day for someone because you think you’ve been mean. So I’m saying do your job and there will still be dark chocolate ice cream in my freezer when and if you want it and I won’t hold it against you if you don’t. And…you can speak now,” she said as he stared at her. “In fact, I’d appreciate it if you did because I’m feeling a bit stupid now,” she added and then buried her nose in her ice cream.

Richard didn’t say anything for several very long seconds during which Maggie fervently wished the couch would just open up and swallow her whole. When he finally did speak, it was so quietly, she almost couldn’t hear.

“I…thank you.” He sat contemplating what was left of his ice cream. “I’m…god, I’m rubbish with words sometimes when no one’s written them for me,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “Sometimes it’s nice knowing someone understands you even when you don’t yourself, you know?” Maggie nodded. “So I’ll try not to worry about it if you promise me one thing.”

“Depends on what it is,” she warily replied.

“Promise me that if I get _too_ insufferable, you’ll kick my arse.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “I think you’d better define the parameters of what constitutes “too insufferable” because I might abuse the privilege and like it.”

Richard laughed. “I trust you so let’s just wing it. Besides, for all you know, I might like it, too,” he said with a naughty grin.

Maggie feigned shock. “Now, now, Oakennephew. Is that any way to talk to your future Auntie?”

He almost choked on his ice cream, then pinned her with a stare. “Of all the things I could call you, May-reed, I can promise you that “Auntie” will never be one of them.”

She heaved a dramatic sigh. “No respect.”

“Yeah well, that’s family for you. I’ll help with the dishes, though.”

“No, you won’t. Not this time, I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure? Because I d- Right. You’ve got it,” he said in response to the look she gave him. “I should probably go, then. I need to try to get myself back to a New Zealand schedule.” He picked up his pictures. “Thank you for these. What do I owe you for the delivery fee on Lizzie’s?”

She waved him off as she walked him to the door. “It’s free. We’re practically family, after all.”

He laughed. “Right. ‘Night, May-reed.”

“’Night, Armitazh,” she said with a smile.

Twenty minutes later, she had just finished cleaning the kitchen when a text came through. It was a picture of what must be Richard’s refrigerator, on which Lizzie’s note and picture were displayed.

_Send this on to Lizzie for me? It’s not much of an engagement present, but it’ll have to do for now._

Maggie grinned. _Will do. Her favorite colour is pink if you’re thinking about gemstones._

_I’ll bear that in mind._

That night, Maggie had another dream, but she recognized this one for what it was as she was having it. _They were alone in an open field on a mountain and she was riding him. Slowly. Oh-so-excruciatingly-slowly, with her head back and her eyes closed - the sun warm on her face and the breeze cool on her skin. She held his hands to her breasts as she ground against him and he groaned. “Faster, Maggie…oh god, please…” She laughed at him, refusing to move any faster and leaning back to rest her hands on the tops of his thighs. He whimpered and let her keep her tortuously slow pace for a few moments, but then, in a flash, he pulled her down on top of him and then flipped both of them over so she was pinned beneath him. She laughed again as he began to pound her mercilessly, and the last thing she saw was not an amalgam of fictional character and real person. It was all him – HIS hair, HIS eyes, HIS face, and HIS smirk._

And it was HIS name she screamed as she woke.


	11. I'm not as think as you drunk I am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize to all those who are reading only this story, who expected an update on Sunday and were forced to wait a few extra days. For those reading both this and Richard's version, it just made more sense narratively to read his chapter first. That will happen a few times now and then. Thank you for being patient, and thank you all for reading.

Maggie knew that if she freaked out about that latest dream, she’d only make it worse – it would be like ordering her subconscious to shift into overdrive and she probably wouldn’t get a decent night’s sleep ever again. The thing that bothered her the most was that while she was no stranger to naughty dreams, this being able to see her partner’s face thing was new. She kept wondering “why _him_ ” and “why now” as though her brain were going to answer her.

She supposed she already knew and it was inevitable, really. He was…well, _him_. It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed how blisteringly hot he was – hell, she knew _that_ before she’d ever set foot in New Zealand – and he had to go and compound it by being smart and funny and nice with that damn voice of his. And then there was that stupid, sexy smolder. It was all well and good to bust that out around _her_ occasionally the way he did because she was completely safe and he knew it (and it probably amused him to use that look on someone just to be funny), but he really needed to be more careful. If he looked at anyone else that way, they’d jump his bones in a heartbeat.

That was another part of the problem: she really wanted to jump someone’s bones. That was inevitable, too. She spent all day every day on a movie set surrounded by every conceivable variety of eye candy: tall men, short men, older men, younger men, dark men, blonde men, hairy men, smooth men, cast and crew alike. She honestly thought that there was more hotness per square inch on set than anywhere else in the world. How could that not make her horny?

But if she thought that giving her subconscious permission to do as it pleased would make it stop, she was sadly mistaken. It didn’t take long before her sleeping brain had theorized what it would be like to have sex on almost every surface in her flat. And the things she did in those dreams…fucking hell. She had never been a prude, but she’d never had an abundance of confidence in herself in that area so she had a tendency to be, well, a bit on the tentative side. But not in those dreams – unless it was a night where her mind decided that _he_ wanted to be in charge (which seemed to be about half the time), and then she’d be… Yeah, like she’d ever trust anyone enough for _that_.

All in all, she was aware it could be worse and she was thankful that her raging libido confined itself to when she was asleep. Lord knew she didn’t have time for it when she was awake. Filming had started at a furious pace that wasn’t likely to abate until it was finished and as they plugged on, it did indeed become more difficult for Richard.

To his credit, he didn’t allow himself to be as grumpy as he was before Christmas, but Maggie could tell it was a struggle. Mostly, he just got quiet – in the chair in the mornings, between shots, during meal breaks, and again in the chair at night. He’d always been quiet (quieter than others, anyway) during those times, but his stillness and stoicism had taken on an air of melancholy as well. He was even quiet during Sunday night dinners, though it wasn’t at all unpleasant, and Maggie figured that if that’s what he needed, then that’s what he’d get.

She was just glad she didn’t have to kick his arse.

She missed the laughter, though, and she could have used some. She had a handle on the homesickness because, although it was faint, she could see the light at the end of the tunnel now and knew she’d be going home _eventually_ , but she was falling victim to a pronounced bout of loneliness. The time of year didn’t help.

Valentine’s Day was coming. Maggie _loathed_ Valentine’s Day. She thought it nothing but a marketing scheme by greeting card companies and flower sellers and she always thought it was a crock of crap. If you loved someone, you didn’t need a specific day to tell them. Tell them on a random Tuesday afternoon because it’s what you feel, not because the calendar and the commercials for jewelry stores tell you that you have to. That said, when you spent as many Valentine’s Days single as she had… Well, she was alone, eleven and a half thousand miles from home, hadn’t had a date in eighty-seven years, and her subconscious had her regularly doing the nasty with someone she could never, ever have in this or any other lifetime and who wouldn’t want her anyway. No wonder she felt lonely.

But then, a miracle happened. That guy from the ski place who’d let her trespass so she could get the picture for Richard and asked nothing in return except her number, actually called. On _Valentine’s Day_ , no less. Perhaps, if she hadn’t been feeling so forlorn, she mightn’t have said yes when he asked her out. Perhaps she wouldn’t even have taken his call. But she did take it, and she did say yes, because oh dear Jesus, she wanted to go out on a proper date.

And then she realized she had nothing to wear and no time for shopping. Maggie had to learn economy of packing when she moved to New Zealand, and she had tried to confine herself to absolute necessities and things she’d use every day. She did have a serviceable Little Black Dress and a few things she could get away with calling “business casual” if the need arose, but why have date clothes when she didn’t date? Fortunately, Natalie was more or less the same size and only too happy to help her out. On the Friday night before the Big Date, they raced to Nat’s house as soon as they could leave Stone Street and Maggie tried on seemingly everything in Nat’s closet. She had a hard time striking that delicate balance between “wholesome first date” and “fuck me now”, but she finally settled on something she thought she could live with (even if it did make Natalie whine with jealousy that Maggie filled out the top better than she did). Natalie even had shoes that fit. The only things Maggie needed to cover were jewelry and underthings. The jewelry was no problem – Maggie didn’t tend to wear a lot and she had a few all-purpose pieces that would serve. As for the underthings…

It wasn’t that Maggie was _planning_ on sleeping with Troy (in fact, she could still count on one finger the number of times she’d slept with someone on the first date and that had been a rather poor decision), but she knew that the fastest way to make it happen was to wear a pair of beige pants and not bother to shave her legs. Luckily, Maggie had a predilection for frilly, lacy underthings, so if by chance she _did_ decide to let Troy see them, she’d be covered. And if she _didn’t_ , well, she wasn’t wearing anything she wouldn’t have anyway.

That Saturday, Maggie had to work hard to keep focused, and the very second she could leave the studio, she rushed home to get ready. She was nervous, and prayed she could shave her legs without nicking herself, and that she had told him to come late enough that she’d have time to finish getting ready. Luck was with her, and she was ready with several minutes to spare.

Troy was a great guy - dressed well, smelled nice, polite, funny, and attentive. He had asked if she liked seafood and on finding out that she did, had chosen a lovely place right on the water and the food was delicious. After their meal, Troy suggested they take a drive along the coast of Wellington Harbour and she agreed. The weather was wonderful – it was a comfortably warm night – and the view was breathtaking. Troy was a great conversationalist, equally adept at telling a story as he was to listening, and he evinced no overt interest in the gossipy side of her career the way so many people not in the business did. On paper, it was a phenomenal first date.

It was just too bad that Maggie was bored out of her mind.

She tried. She really did. She genuinely laughed at his stories because they were really quite funny, but she could very easily have lived without them. She agreed to the drive because she told herself that he was such a nice, decent guy she really ought to be enjoying herself more. Maybe she was more tired than she thought. Maybe she should have made the date for Sunday instead. She invited him in for coffee because dammit, on paper this should totally work. But when she took the coffee through to her sitting room where he was waiting on the couch, a little voice inside her head told her that this was never, ever going to work; and she found herself telling him that she’d gotten a text while she was in the kitchen calling her in to work early the next day. He’d drunk his coffee and affably prepared to take his leave. In one last ditch effort born out of a desire to find some reason, _any_ reason for a second date, Maggie kissed him when she walked him to the door.

She felt absolutely nothing.

Every time. Every. Bloody. Time. This happened every single time she dated someone (with only one exception), though she usually managed to get past the first date. Everything would be going along swimmingly and then, for no discernible reason at all, she’d just lose interest and once she did, there was nothing she could do to get it back. Maybe this time, it was because she knew she wasn’t going to be around much longer and what was the point of starting something with such a built-in limited shelf-life? It wasn’t that she was looking for forever, but was it really the best idea to start something that would only last a maximum of five months? Not that she’d made it to five months in a very long while. Her average was probably somewhere closer to three months, actually. And that probably wouldn’t have been very fair to Troy, anyway.

Maggie sighed as she exchanged Natalie’s pretty clothes for an old tank top and her robe. She’d wanted this to work. A lot. A really lot. But she’d ended the date early and she wasn’t even tired and now she was alone and bored and it was barely ten o’clock. How would she fill her night?

She decided that a date with some dark chocolate ice cream and all four hours of the most recent BBC production of _Jane Eyre_ would be a more satisfying one. Jane’s speech about being “poor, obscure, plain, and little” always got to her. Maggie knew a thing or two about obscurity – working with some very big name people could make anyone feel that way. And she swore that every facial expression of Toby Stephens’ Rochester after Jane returns to find him burnt and blind was actually going to rip her heart out one day. When it was over and she’d dried her eyes, she went in to bed.

Less than half an hour later, she was awake again.

She sat straight up in bed, half-convinced that what she thought she’d heard was probably just a dream. But then she heard it again: someone was banging on her door. _What the fuck? It’s two-thirty in the morning!_ Part of her wanted to call the police – what if it was Troy who suddenly decided he was bitter about their date ending early, or some rabid axe murderer? But part of her was afraid it was someone who needed help – what if it was Mrs. Wallace? What if the house was on fire? She grabbed her robe and tied it on the run, belatedly realizing she should probably have her cell phone in hand in case she needed to call emergency services. On the way to the door, approximately one thousand theories as to what was going on crossed her mind, and although part of her was mentally preparing for the zombie apocalypse, she never expected to find -

“Richard? What the hell?” She opened the door to find him leaning on the frame.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. But I don- I’m here and I know I shouldn’t be and I swear I don’t know how it happened and I’m really sorry and… _is he here?_ ” He added in what was quite possibly the loudest stage whisper in history.

“Oh wow, are you drunk,” she mused as she took a step back to get away from his breath. “Is _who_ here?”

He rolled his eyes. “ _You know, Ski Guy_.” He was still using the whisper she was sure Mrs. Wallace could have heard.

“’Ski Guy’,” she repeated, her eyes wide. “How did you…?”

He put his hands on her shoulders as if to drive home the monumental importance of his next statement. “Graham and I ate at the same restaurant.”

“Ohhhh… Um, no. His name is Troy, by the way, but he’s not here. Why don’t you come in?” She stood aside so he could.

“Oh, he’s not?” He asked as he stumbled through the doorway. “But…but he _liked_ you,” he said, half-whining.

She took his arm to steady him and steered him through the kitchen into the sitting room. “Yeah, well. I didn’t like _him_ , so… Come on, let’s sit you down and I’ll get you some water.” She got him safely stationary on the couch and then fetched him a bottle of water. “Here you go. Get this down you or you’ll have one hell of a headache tomorrow.”

“You didn’t?”

“I didn’t what?”

“Like him. You didn’t like him.”

“Oh. No, I didn’t,” she said as she sat on the coffee table facing him. “Now come on, drink up.” She waited while he downed half the bottle. “Now, you want to tell me why you’re so completely blootered?”

He _giggled_ – an actual, real giggle. “I like the way you talk. I’m… _blootered_ … because I have been drinking.” He smiled, obviously absurdly pleased with his own logic.

“Uh huh,” she said as she gently pushed the water bottle toward his lips so he’d have to drink. “Much more than usual it would seem. Is there a reason why?”

“’Cause,” he muttered. Something told her he didn’t want to answer the question. Something else told her that if she waited him out, he’d do so anyway. “’Cause Dean ordered shots…” he said eventually, avoiding her eyes. “And ‘cause…I can’t…do…this anymore.”

She frowned. “Do what, exactly?”

He thought for a moment as if trying to remember. “I can’t…be Thorin anymore.” He looked equal parts relieved to have remembered and ashamed of the admission.

“What do you mean you can’t be Thorin anymore?”

“It’s _hard_ , Maggs,” he whined, sounding like a little boy. “He’s sad and he’s _angry_ all the time and everything hurts. And, you know, maybe he wanted a _family_ – you know, a _wife_ and, and…you know, dwarf…lets - and a _life_ and happiness and he’s never going to get to have that _EVER_ and he _knows_ it. He’s always known it. And he _knows_ he’s going to die. Seriously. Maggie, he knows. Do you know what that’s like? Knowing you have no choice and you _have_ to do something and it’s going to _kill_ you?”

“No,” she said, quietly. There were tears in his eyes and her heart was breaking for him. “I don’t.”

“I don’t either. But then I do. And I think…I think he _wants_ to die. And it’s… God, Maggie. I’m tired of being pissed off. And I’m tired of being tired. And I don’t want to be Thorin anymore. Bathroom.”

“What?”

“Bathroom. I need to go to the bathroom. I’ve been drinking so I need to go to the bathroom.” The speed with which he changed gears amazed her – as did the fact that he was talking to her like _she_ was the one who was impaired.

“Well, you’re on your own there, pal. I’m not helping.”

“Pft,” he said as he stood. “I don’t _need_ your help.”

She watched as he weaved his way to the bathroom, then went and collected one of her pillows and a couple extra blankets to put on the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“Making up the couch. What are _you_ doing?”

“Trying…to get…my phone…out…of my back…pocket.”

He may have been “trying” but he was never going to succeed. His phone was in his right pocket and he was trying to get to it with his left hand. He was flailing so much that Maggie was afraid he’d break something…but whether that something was himself or something in her flat remained to be seen. Either way, the man was a menace.

“Richard. Richard, stop. STOP! I’ll get it,” she said as she reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone and he giggled

“You touched my bum.” _Lord, give me strength to deal with this drunk fool_.

“Here,” she said as she handed it to him – refusing to acknowledge that last comment. “Who are you calling at this hour?”

“Cab.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying here. Look, I’ve got the couch all made up,” she said as she took his phone out of his hand and laid it on the coffee table.

“I don’t wanna sleep on your couch, Maggs.”

“Well, that’s good because you’re not going to. I am.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you wouldn’t fit, you twit. You get my bed.”

He giggled again. “You rhymed…and you’re really pretty, you know that?”

“Yep, I’m gorgeous” she said as she gently pushed him in the direction of her bedroom and then ran into him as he stopped dead in the doorway.

“Maggie, this is _your bedroom_.”

 _Oh good – more stage whispering_. She laughed. “Very good, Richard. You’re right.”

“Maggie, I can’t. I can’t be in _your bedroom. Your bed is in here_.”

“Richard, listen to me. You’re here because you are in no shape to go home and you won’t fit on my couch, so you’re going to sleep in my bed, okay? Now sit so we can get your shoes off.” She pushed him the rest of the way into the room and he sat and allowed her to take off his shoes. “Good lad, now lie down,” she said and covered him when he complied. She had the presence of mind to fetch the bin and put it by the edge of the bed. “Just in case, okay? Please don’t puke in my bed. I can’t even tell you how much I don’t want you to puke in my bed.”

“Won’t,” he said, fretfully. “Maggie? Will you sit with me?”

She sighed, marveling at how quickly he could go from petulant to piteous. “For a few minutes,” she answered and sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t want to be Thorin anymore.” _How can anyone with a voice THAT deep sound like such a little boy?_

“I know. You don’t have to be Thorin tonight.” She smiled down at him and stroked his hair. “You can just be Richard. Hush now and go to sleep,” she said softly.

His eyes closed and he had the most angelic smile she’d ever seen.

“I like your bed. It’s soft and it smells good. You’re soft and smell good, too.”

_Yeah, best to let that one go. With any luck, he’ll never remember it in the morning._

“Maggie?”

“Yes, Richard?”

“Troy is a stupid name.”

She laughed then, softly. “Go to sleep, Oakendrunk.”

A few minutes later, it was apparent that he had. His breathing evened out and his face had fully relaxed. She kept stroking his head a little more just to make sure. _Damn, his hair is soft. And those eyelashes – they shouldn’t be legal. Fuck, he’s beautiful. HE shouldn’t be legal, either._

Once she was certain he was truly asleep, Maggie got up, shut off the light, and left – closing the door softly behind her – then made herself as comfy on the couch as she could. _Well, I started this night hoping there might be a man in my bed at the end of it, and there is but it is so not how I wanted it to be. Stupid irony_. She pounded the pillow in frustration when a rather funny thought occurred, and she fell asleep imagining Morag’s face if she were to text her a picture of sleeping Richard with the caption, “guess who’s in my bed.”


	12. By the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be best not to read the end of this chapter whilst at work. Or on the bus or subway. Or anywhere in public. Or with any other people anywhere near. For reasons.

Maggie woke to the buzzing of Richard’s phone, unsure of what she was hearing. She squinted in the early morning light and remembered laying the phone on the coffee table after she took it from him. She should probably take it back to him, but it was too early to wake him, surely. Maybe she could just take a peek at who it was – if it was family or his agent or someone important, she’d take it to him. If it wasn’t, she’d pretend she didn’t hear it. It was a text from Martin. _Oh great, now I have a dilemma._

She figured it was probably about breakfast as it was Sunday morning and that was their ritual, and she honestly didn’t know if she should wake Richard or not. She didn’t think he’d be in any shape to leave her place until after he’d rehydrated. Maybe she should just beg off for him? She’d have to read the text to do that, and that would be…well, that would be a bigger violation of privacy than if she had taken a picture of him to send to Morag. She sat fretting about it for a few more minutes before finally deciding just to read it. If it was about breakfast, she’d answer and tell Martin Richard wasn’t feeling well (which, of course, probably wouldn’t be a lie); if it wasn’t about breakfast, she’d just forget all about it and pretend it never happened. God knew she had learned discretion over the years. Pretending she hadn’t seen a text wouldn’t be very difficult.

_Hey man, are you coming to breakfast?_

Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. Now to decide how to answer: _as_ Richard or on his behalf? She decided to answer as Richard so that he wouldn’t have to explain what she was doing with his phone so early on a Sunday morning if he didn’t want to.

_Have to give it a miss this week. Feeling a touch under the weather._

About a minute later, his phone buzzed again. _Feel better._

Maggie figured she was up for good, and she still had an hour before she was to Skype with Lizzie. She thought she might go for a run and stop at the market for the things to make a hangover breakfast, but, of course, her running clothes were in her bedroom. She stole in as slowly and quietly as she could and collected her things. She needn’t have been so careful, because he never moved. Damn, was he ever adorable. She thought about taking a picture just for herself, but she figured she’d violated his privacy enough for one day.

After changing in the bathroom, she went to the kitchen and got the coffee maker ready and wrote Richard a note.

_Went for a short run. Water’s in the fridge and I’ll pick up some sports drink at the market. Help yourself to coffee or whatever – but definitely drink water! Ibuprofen’s in the cabinet in the bathroom. Breakfast with the boys is off. I’ll feed you when I get back. M._

She left the sticky note on the inside of her bedroom door where he’d see it and left. As she was stretching, she thought about something Richard had said when she opened her door – “ _I’m here and I know I shouldn’t be and I swear I don’t know how it happened._ ” Had he driven? _Oh please, no_. Since she didn’t have time for a long run anyway, she jogged around her block and most of the nearest streets in search of his car, but she didn’t find it. He’d likely either gotten to her place on foot or been dropped off, it seemed, and for that she was thankful. Maggie was a big believer in counting blessings where she could find them. She got to the market, picked up the things she’d need for breakfast, and jogged home.

As she did so, she thought about some of the other things he’d said last night. She worried about how sure he seemed that he couldn’t be Thorin anymore. She knew very well how alcohol could make problems seem bigger than they really were, and it was always possible that he just needed to vent, but those had been real tears in his eyes and the exhaustion and despondence in his voice didn’t seem like exaggeration. She wished there was some way to make it easier on him, but if there was, she couldn’t see it. It was something he was just going to have to find a way through on his own (and there was no doubt in her mind that he was capable of doing it, hard though it was going to be), but maybe if he could just get out of his head for a bit, it would help. She may not understand what it was like to play a stubborn, angry, possibly suicidal Dwarf, but she knew the importance of (and difficulty in) shutting off your mind once in a while. And considering the night she’d had, she could probably do with a bit of that herself.

When she got home (where it didn’t seem that Richard had moved since she’d last looked), she put the groceries away, took the note off her bedroom door, and called the stable where she rode and arranged to have two horses saddled and waiting for a little before noon. She made a few sandwiches and cut up some fruit to take with them while the coffee brewed and then she Skyped Lizzie. It was Morag, though, who answered.

“Hey! Quit stealin’ yer daughter’s story time!”

“I wannae know how your date went.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. She should have expected this. “’Twas nice, but I was hame an’ watchin’ a film by 10.”

“Please tell me he was watchin' wi’ ye.” Maggie shook her head. “Mairead! Was there something wrong wi’ him?”

“No. He was lovely, we just…didnae click.” Maggie turned the volume down on the laptop because she knew what was coming next, and the last thing she needed was for Richard to show up now. She’d never hear the end of it.

“Oh, for the love of God, Mairead. If he was lovely, why did ye not click? Are ye TRYNA end up old an’ alone?”

“Aye, Morag. That is exactly what I’m tryna do, an’ when I get hame, I’m gonnae start collectin’ cats. Look, I tried, okay? I went out wi’ him an’ it was verra nice, but that’s all it was…nice. Nae spark, nae nothing. An’ what would ye have me do? Fall in love wi’ the guy an’ stay here? I mean, we have Skype so ye’d be able to see the weddin’. You wouldnae miss anything.” _The best defense is a good offense._

“No,” Morag answered reluctantly. “I just…I wanted it tae work out for ye. That’s all.”

“I know, an’ I love ye for it. Now would ye please put yer daughter on?”

Morag did and Lizzie was full of stories of what she was doing at school and how much snow they had and the fact that she’d lost a tooth and the Tooth Fairy had given her two whole pounds under her pillow. And then Maggie read _two_ stories (because some days, she couldn’t say “no” to that little face and besides, she’d been awfully patient in letting Morag do some of the talking), and talked about how it was still summer in New Zealand.

“It’s past yer bedtime, ladybug. Yer mam is gonnae have my hide.”

“No, she willna, Auntie. She cannae get to yer hide because it’s too far away.”

Maggie laughed. “Hard tae argue wi’ that kind of logic.”

“When are you comin' hame?”

“The way the schedule is now, in about five months.”

“How long is that?”

“Not quite half a year.”

“How many sleeps?”

“Och, it’s no time yet tae start counting sleeps, ladybug. If we did, it would be too big a number an’ it would seem too far away. I’ll be hame when it’s summer there and ye’re up to yer ears in iced lollies an’ covered in midge bites.”

Lizzie giggled, but then turned serious. “Will ye go away again?”

“Well, yes, for work I’ll have tae, but maybe not right away. An’ I dinna think it will ever be for as long an’ never as far.”

“Da says ye cannae go any farther. He says if ye did, ye’d be coming back again.”

Maggie laughed. “He’s right. I’m almost exactly halfway ‘round the world. Did he show ye on the globe that Gran got him for Christmas?”

“Yes. It’s verra far. What time is it there?”

“Ten in the morning.”

“Next time ye go away, can it be some place where we can see the moon at the same time? It’s night here and I can see it now, but ye cannae.”

“Nope, it’s daytime here an’ the sun is out. Are ye thinking about the moon song? Do ye want to sing it anyway?”

“No, Auntie. It wouldnae be right if we cannae both actually see it. Mam says I have to go tae bed now, anyway.”

“Yes, stinker. Ye’ve already gotten an extra half hour out of this,” Maggie said with a chuckle.

“I miss ye, Auntie.”

“I miss ye more, ladybug. Night night. Have happy dreams.”

The moon song and how seriously Lizzie took it almost did her in. Maggie’s own Gran had sung it to her, and it was intended to make a child feel better about the distance between loved ones because if you both looked up at the moon at the same time, it would be like being together. Leave it to Lizzie to figure out that couldn’t work with a thirteen hour time difference.

But Maggie would not cry – there was no point and it wouldn’t change anything. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, because her eyes hadn’t gotten that no crying memo and had filled. Then she took a fortifying sip of her coffee. That’s when Richard made his appearance. _Oh crap. I look like the Bride of Frankenstein on a GOOD morning. How the hell does he look THAT good hungover? Life is so fucking unfair._

She forced herself to smile. “Well, hello there, sunshine. How are we feeling this morning?”

“Depends on what I may have said or done last night, I think,” he answered sheepishly as he sat in a chair. It was odd seeing him do that. But then, she was sitting in his accustomed spot.

“Here.” She picked up a bottle of Powerade and tossed it to him. “So you don’t remember?”

“There are some gaps,” he said as he drank.

She’d spare him the embarrassment of the things he _did_ say, but she figured she was entitled to have a _little_ fun at his expense. “So did you mean it when you said you wanted to have my babies?”

He choked so hard he almost spit. “WHAT?”

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” she said as she almost cried with laughter. “Your face!”

“Liar. You’re not sorry at all,” he accused.

“No, you’re right. It’s my consolation prize for having to deal with your drunk arse waking me at two-thirty in the morning.”

“Maggie, I’m sorry. I don’t even know how I got here.”

She waved him off. “I had a look round when I went for a run and your car’s not anywhere in the vicinity, so thank goodness for that.”

“No, I know I didn’t drive. Graham did when we went for dinner and he dropped me off at the bar where I met up with Aidan and Dean and then we took a cab. I just meant that I don’t remember giving this address. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You were so drunk it probably was a good thing there was someone around to keep an eye on you. And stop worrying – you honestly didn’t say or do anything you shouldn’t have. You were a perfect gentleman. Giggly and a little silly, more than a little angsty, but a gentleman.”

“I don’t giggle.”

“When you’re blind drunk you do,” she said with a smirk.

He gave her a dirty look worthy of Sir Guy. “Oh shit, I’m missing breakfast.”

“Um…no, you’re actually not. I, um…I’m sorry. I know this is a terrible violation of privacy, but you left your phone out here last night and it buzzed this morning and when I saw it was a text from Martin, I figured it was about your breakfast.” She cringed. “I texted him back and said you were feeling a bit under the weather and would be giving it a miss this week. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have, but you were still so asleep at that point and I didn’t want to wake you. I swear I didn’t poke around in your phone or anything. That one text was all I did.”

“It’s okay, Maggs. I trust you. And thanks – I really don’t feel up to breakfast with the boys this week.”

“No, I guess not. Now that you’ve rehydrated, why don’t you get yourself some coffee while I fix us a fry-up?”

“You don’t have t-“

“Please. I come from a hard-drinking people. We know how to handle the morning after. Besides, you need to fortify yourself because afterward, I’m kidnapping you.”

“Um, what?”

“We’re going on a wee field trip,” she said as she got up. “I think you need to get out of your head for a bit, and I know a perfect spot to do that.”

He followed her to the kitchen. “Um, I should probably go home and get a shower first.”

She smiled as she started gathering what she’d need to make breakfast. “You don’t need a shower for where we’re going.”

“Should I be scared?”

She laughed and handed him a coffee mug. “Didn’t you just say something about trusting me? Go, sit. I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

She shooed him away and started cooking. The Scot in her had the traditional panic at the thought of a breakfast without porridge, but she figured Richard’s need was greater than hers. It was a bit counterintuitive, the thought of throwing grease down into an already wobbly stomach, but it really did seem to work the majority of the time. She got everything fried up – eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans, and toast – and took the plates out to the sitting room. When Richard saw his, he turned positively green.

“Um, I don’t know if I can – “

“Just start with some of the toast, then work your way through the grease, then more toast. Trust me.”

She almost laughed at the look on his face as he choked down the first few bites, but the longer he soldiered on, the better he looked.

“See? Rehydration and grease – works almost every time. It’s magic,” she said with a grin.

He looked like he was ready to believe that. “So…where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there. Let me just pop these in the washer and change.”

“Could I use some of your mouthwash?”

“Of course. Help yourself.”

She went into her bedroom to change into jeans and a t-shirt and as she glanced at the bed, tried really hard not to ponder where Richard may have been before sleeping in her bed in his clothes. She’d definitely be washing her bedding later. When she went back out to the sitting room, he was looking a little lost. _God love him. He really is stupidly adorable._

“Um…where did I leave my shoes?”

She laughed. “Bedroom. I’m just going to brush my teeth while you get them.”

After she was done in the bathroom, she found a small backpack and went to gather their provisions for the ride. He was waiting in the kitchen for her.

“Lunch,” she explained as she filled the backpack. “Sandwiches, fruit, and your choice of water or more Powerade. You ready?”

“Is there any chance we could stop at my place first? I think I need sunglasses.”

She laughed again (she couldn’t stop finding Hangover Richard endlessly funny) and led the way to her car. He gave her directions – _he’d make a hell of a GPS voice_ \- and they were at his place within a few minutes.

“Couldn’t I just grab a quick shower?”

“Richard, you do realize that you smell worse at the end of a day’s shooting than you do right now, right? Trust me, you’re going to want a shower when we’re done so just wait. Go get your sunglasses and get your arse back out here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waited in the car while he went in and it didn’t take long for her to realize that he couldn’t possibly just be looking for a pair of sunglasses. _The fool is going to take a shower and make me wait. Damn metrosexuals._ She decided to listen to some music since she’d be sitting there a while, but it wasn’t as long as she anticipated. He hadn’t actually showered, but he did change. She shook her head as he got back in the car.

“Feel better now? I guess I should just be glad you didn’t go ahead and shower.”

“I thought about it. What are we listening to?”

“Oh, sorry,” she said as she reached to turn off her iPod. “Forgot it was on. I wasn’t thinking about your head.”

“My head is fine, Maggs, leave it. But what is this?”

“Her name is Loreena McKennitt. She’s Canadian and does Celtic and World music.”

He listened with his head back and his eyes closed while she drove the short distance to the stable, and she wondered if this was really a good idea. It was a glorious day, though, and she really hoped he’d be able to enjoy it. She was startled when he spoke as she pulled into the parking area. She had thought he was asleep.

“I like this. It’s very…”

“Sensual? A lot of her stuff is.” _Crap. Did I really just say “sensual”? Was that inappropriate? Think before you speak, Drummond._ “We’re here.”

“A stable? We’re going riding?”

 _See? I TOLD you that you didn’t need to shower._ “Mrs. Wallace’s son, Robert, owns it. I come here every Sunday that I’m not sparring. Are you up for it?” He nodded. Their horses were saddled and ready. “Normally, I saddle my own, but I figured calling ahead would save time,” she said as she handed him a helmet out of the tack room. “Try this one on for size.”

He did and it fit. “Why don’t you have one?”

She grinned. “Because I’m not a major component of a billion-dollar movie franchise. Richard, this is Pokey. He’s not necessarily named for his temperament. Or his speed.”

“Is it a comment on my riding ability?”

Maggie laughed. “No, I’ve seen you ride. You’re more than competent, and he’s more than just a slow old horse.”

She used the block to mount and he followed suit ( _without the help of the block, of course, tall bastard_ ), and started off. Maggie led the way, taking some of her favorite trails. She knew them all like the back of her hand, but she chose the smoothest ones through the meadows and softly rolling hills. They rode in silence, and Maggie, as always when on the back of a horse, felt all the problems of the world fall off into nothing.

“Almost there,” she said as she followed a path into the woods. They stopped briefly to water the horses at a stream and then continued on until the trees opened up onto a narrow beach. “We’re here.”

They dismounted and hobbled the horses. They’d had a late and large breakfast, so neither of them was very hungry, but Maggie got out the fruit to share and some water and dropped down onto the sand and Richard followed.

“Okay, wow.”

She smiled. “Wouldn’t have had quite the impact if I’d told you, would it?” He shook his head. “I figured after some of the things you said last night that you could use some time getting out of your head, and this usually works for me. The water and the air and the sky just make things melt away for a while. There’s only one thing I know of that’s better, and you’re not allowed that.”

“What is it?”

“Beating the crap out of someone with a sword,” she grinned. “Everyone always says how great exercise is for stress-relief, but it’s not for me. Simply doing the same thing over and over doesn’t do much when you can’t turn off your brain during it. But when you’re sparring, you have to pay attention because getting hit hurts like hell, so it’s in your best interest to focus solely on what you’re doing. A little sun, sky, sea, and sand is the next best thing to me. And getting here on a horse, well…I don’t expect it quite gives you the thrill it does me, but I thought maybe it might help a little.”

“You get like that, too? Where you can’t turn off your brain?” He seemed mystified.

She gave a gruff laugh. “All the time. When I’m awake, when I’m asleep, when I’m at work, when I’m not at work…my head never shuts up. Ever. Even when I drink…well, that just makes it worse, actually. Sometimes I’d give just about anything for a little peace and quiet in my own mind.”

“Me too,” he said, a little wistfully. They lapsed into silence for quite a while and just watched the water and the little shore birds that flitted at the edge, and Maggie gave him space just to be. “You must think I’m the most ungrateful arsehole ever,” he said some time later as he rubbed at his eyes.

“What? No. Why would I think that?”

“How many people do you think would give their right nut to be where I am and playing Thorin?”

She shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But how many of them do you think would feel exactly the same way you do if they got the chance?” She asked as he stared at her in surprise. “You don’t have to love something every minute of the day to be grateful for it. I don’t love my job all the time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know I’ve been damn lucky to do it. Just because being Thorin is hard and it’s making you feel discouraged doesn’t mean I think you’re ungrateful for the opportunity. I’d like to think I know you better than that.”

“I knew it would be hard,” he said as he let sand trickle through his fingers. “But I had no idea how hard.”

“I think you would have had to have been clairvoyant to do so.”

He gave a short laugh. “You’re probably right. I just…sometimes I feel bad for him, and sometimes I want to shake some sense into him. And then I get angry because I can’t change things. Or him. All that for a fictional character,” he sighed.

“I think all of that means you’re probably doing it right.”

He nodded and was silent again for a while before saying, “thank you for listening.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “It’s what friends are for. But…friends also get to say when they think you’re wrong.”

He frowned. “How am I wrong? I thought you were agreeing with me.”

“I was, and for the most part, I do, except for one thing: you _can_ do this. Last night you said you couldn’t anymore. And I think you’re wrong.”

“Maggie, I’m honestly not altogether sure I _can_ do it.”

“That’s because you’re too hard on yourself and can’t see yourself objectively enough to make that assessment.”

“Oh, and you can?”

She really didn’t want to step on his toes or overstep her bounds, but… “Well, I can be more objective than _you_ can, and I watch you, remember? You rarely watch yourself. You almost never go to dailies and when you do, you spend so much time obsessing over how you think you _should have done_ something that you fail to see what you _did_ do. You’ve been doing a phenomenal job all this time and I don’t think you know it.” She spoke as gently as she knew how because she certainly didn’t want him to think she was attacking him, but that might have been exactly what he did think.

“And how would you know it? It’s not like _you_ go to dailies.”

“No, I don’t because I’m a makeup artist and I’m off making prosthetics at that time,” she said mildly. “But I hear you talking about it. Do you think when you talk to the person in the next chair over that I can’t hear you? And I see you work every day. Do you think I spend all that time that you’re filming just plotting how I’ll ambush you the next time there’s a reset or off in a corner picking my nose? No, I’ve been watching, Richard. I’m not saying it’s wrong to think about how you could have done something differently or better, but you need to start giving yourself some credit for what you _have_ done. There are going to be fangirls – and boys, to be fair - crying in the aisles when he dies and it’s not going to be because of the way Tolkien wrote him. Now, I know part of that is the script you’re given, but it’s you who has to bring those pages to life. And if I think that after watching you in a room of nothing but green – and believe me, I’m starting to really hate that color and it used to be my favorite – imagine how it will look when it’s finished. I know it weighs you down and I know it’s hard, but there’s no one who knows him the way you do so there’s no one who can do him justice the way you can.”

He stared at her, and she just prayed he understood. Well, actually, first she prayed he’d decide she wasn’t trying to bullshit him.

“No, I’m not just blowing sunshine up your arse.”

He laughed then. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”

“You’re not that great an enigma, Armitazh.”

“Why are you so…you?”

Okay, now _that_ was funny. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Oh, come on, that’s bullshit. Your job is to glue bits to my face, make sure they stay there all day, and then take them off at night.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And that’s my only job, is it? I wasn’t talking about being a makeup artist. I was talking about being a _friend_ , Oakentwit.”

He smiled, then looked out over the water as they lapsed into silence again. She hoped that somehow she’d reached him. She wasn’t egotistical enough to think that anything she said had some kind of magic that could make everything better, but she knew the power of someone else believing in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself, and she just hoped that it helped. She really hadn’t blown sunshine up his ( _beautifully sculpted – stop that!_ ) arse. She truly believed that he had the ability to get through all of this and do right by the character.

“Why don’t I take the horses back to the stream to water them and you can sit here a while?”

“I don’t really want to leave, but I can’t sit here forever. And anyway, I do feel better.”

She smiled. “Good.”

He got up and reached a hand down to pull her up. She took it, and when he pulled her to her feet, he hugged her. It startled her at first and she knew she froze, but then she made herself relax into it and hugged him back.

“Thank you,” he said, softly and she could feel his voice rumble through his chest.

“You’re welcome,” she answered.

God, the man knew how to hug. It was probably mostly due to his size, but he made her feel like he was hugging _all_ of her – like it wasn’t just some half-assed thing but a true, full-body hug – and she probably could have happily stood there like that for hours. He felt warm and big and safe…which was a really, _really_ inappropriate thought. She was relieved that he pulled away at that moment so she was saved the embarrassment of having to apologize. They walked their horses back to the stream.

“Your date last night – with Troy – why didn’t you like him?”

She was trying rather desperately not to think about that hug and the question caught her off guard. “Oh. Um, well, I just…didn’t,” she shrugged. “Besides, a friend told me he has a stupid name,” she said and then snickered and Richard laughed.

After the horses had been watered, he gave Maggie a leg up (which nearly gave her a coronary – _Jesus Christ, Mairead – there’s nothing sexual about that! Stop it!_ ) and then mounted himself and they rode back to the stable. It was on the return trip that she saw the fatal flaw in this plan: riding almost always had the side effect of making her horny. It was nothing new, it happened every week – a natural consequence of being relaxed. But this wasn’t every week and she wasn’t alone and he… _STOP IT NOW! YOU HAD A FRIEND WHO NEEDED A SHOULDER AND YOU HELPED HIM OUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST STOP!_ Not for the first time, Maggie was glad no one could hear her thoughts.

Robert was waiting at the barn to take their horses, so they didn’t need to unsaddle them or brush them down. When they got in the car, Richard asked if they could listen to more of the music from earlier and Maggie turned it on. Neither spoke as they drove home. On the one hand, Maggie was glad not to have to try to make conversation, but on the other, Loreena’s music was… _DID I NOT JUST TELL YOU TO STOP?_ The ride home seemed much longer than it actually was and it was with relief that Maggie pulled up in front of Richard’s place.

“Okay, go get a shower. You smell,” she said as she wrinkled her nose. _Get your stupid ,sexy, good hug giving, tortured artist arse out of my car._

“Ha! Thanks, May-reed. You’re so good for my ego.”

“And do me a favor and drink a couple more bottles of water. It’s bad enough that Aidan and Dean frequently sweat alcohol, I can’t deal with you doing it, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He put his hand on her shoulder and she damn near jumped out of her skin.“Thank you again. For everything.”

“Anytime,” she said with a smile as he started to get out of the car.

“Oh hey, what’s her name again,” he asked as he pointed to Maggie’s iPod.

“Loreena McKennitt.” She disconnected the pod and handed it to him. “Here. Take it for a few days and listen to it. If you like her, then you can download her stuff. It’s okay,” she said in answer to his look. “I can do without it for a few days. It’s all on my hard drive anyway.” _And I don’t think I can listen to her for a while now._

“Thanks.”

He took it and headed in, waving to Maggie as she drove off. A couple blocks away, she let out a frustrated growl at a red light. It was a warm day, they had been riding, she was all out of sorts over her date with Troy, and then Richard had had to go and be all drunk and emotional and freaking adorable. That’s all it was – an accumulation of things guaranteed to make her horny. Again. It would probably be more of a problem if she _wasn’t_.

She got home and threw her bedding in the washer. He really had been rank. She puttered around, cleaning up the breakfast things, and tidying her flat, and once the bedding was in the dryer, she took a shower. A cold shower. Because it was summer and it was hot and she just wanted a refreshing shower. No other reason. No other reason at all.

When the dryer stopped, she put all the lovely, clean things back on her bed and heated up some leftover Chinese for dinner. And masochist that she was, she put in _Dear Frankie_. She’d watched it often enough that she could actually get through it without crying sometimes. This wasn’t one of those times, though. In fact, it made her cry _harder_ this time. _Must be hormones_. Since she hadn’t slept so well on the couch the night before, she decided to go to bed early.

_She was on a horse, laughing down at him. He’d forgotten to hobble his and it had run away, leaving him to beg for a ride._

_“Come on, Mairead. Don’t make me walk all the way back,” he pleaded and gave her his best puppy dog look._

_“I told you to hobble him.”_

_“I forgot,” he shrugged, but something in his eyes told her he was lying. They looked…predatory._

_“Come on, then,” she said as she gave him her hand and let him have the stirrup so he could mount._

_Once he was safely seated behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and she urged the horse to walk on. Since the horse wasn’t used to carrying two, she didn’t want to overwork her as they had a fair distance to go. They traveled along the path like that for quite a while until she felt him brush the hair from her neck and start to kiss it. She froze._

_“What are you doing?”_

_She felt the rumble of his laughter through her entire body, as one hand snaked up under her shirt and the other slid down to rub her through her jeans. She gasped and he laughed harder._

_“I said, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”_

_“Seducing you.” He palmed one of her breasts and she arched into his hand. “Do you want me to stop?”_

_“No,” she said as she relaxed back against him and turned her head to look at him._

_“Tsk, tsk. Eyes on the path,” he said as he undid the button and zipper on her jeans. She gasped again as he slid his hand inside. “So wet already. I don’t have to work very hard at this seduction, do I?” His voice was a low growl right beside her ear. “Do you know, I think this horse wants to trot,” he said as he slipped a finger inside her. “Go on, Mairead. Kick the horse into a trot.”_

_She whimpered. “I –“_

_“Do it.”_

_She did. He kept his finger still and let the horse and gravity do the job of working her into a frenzy, and she could feel his hardness against her arse._

_“Mmmm…you feel good,” he rasped._

_“I…” She was almost too breathless to speak. “I need more.”_

_“Then stop the horse.”_

_She did and he pulled his hand out of her pants and was down off the horse in one fluid move. He pulled her down to him, letting her body slide all along his as he did so and kissed her hard and deeply._

_“I need you inside me NOW,” she whined as soon as he let her up for air._

_There was a convenient boulder nearby, and he laid her over it and pulled her jeans and panties down, before undoing his own jeans. He rubbed the head of his cock over the length of her and she groaned in frustration._

_“Jesus, Richard, stop teasing and FUCK ME!”_

_He laughed as he slid into her, then set a frantic pace. She wrapped her legs around his hips and…_

…woke up in a sweat, heart pounding, and her breathing erratic and she knew if she didn’t touch herself right then, she might just explode. She slid a hand down to rub herself, and it took only seconds until she came hard, the spasms rolling through her as she shook and moaned. Her body felt boneless and it took longer than usual until her breathing and heart rate returned to normal. Exhausted, she fell back to sleep without moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Loreena McKennitt song they were listening to (and which figures rather prominently *cough* in Richard's version of this chapter): [The Gates of Istanbul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=To5XEeg_xeo).
> 
> And if you're ever in the mood for a sweet, makes you feel good (after it makes you feel ALL the feels) movie, have a look for the one Maggie watched - "Dear Frankie". I know it was available on US Netflix last time I looked.


	13. And he cooks, too

It was in the shower the next morning that Maggie remembered the dream. She almost dropped the shampoo bottle. It had been so _vivid_ \- she could smell the leather of the saddle, feel his breath against her ear and the solidity of his thighs next to hers – and oh god, she didn’t think she’d ever said the words “fuck me” in her entire life, at least never in that context. _Note to self: don’t ever ride Ri-…um, take him riding ever again._ She just hoped she’d be able to function through her day. She was afraid she’d spend it blushing.

Natalie was waiting for her in the parking lot when she got to Stone Street.

“Well, how was it,” she asked as Maggie handed her the bag with the clothes she’d borrowed, freshly laundered. “When’s the next one? I put a few things aside I think will look fab on you.”

“Oh, um, it was…nice,” Maggie answered as they walked to the prosthetics trailer. “I’m sorry you went to all that trouble, though, because I don’t think there’s going to be a next one.”

“What?? Tell me he hasn’t called you! Ooh, what a right bastard!”

“No, he’s called. I just sent it to voice mail. _I’m_ the right bastard, actually.”

“Oh no, was it a bad date?”

“No, it was fine, it just wasn’t…” Maggie sighed. “I don’t know. We just didn’t click.”

“Oh lord, love. That’s even worse. At least if it were a bad date, you’d have a funny story to tell later.”

Maggie chuckled, but it was cut short when she heard Richard walk into the trailer. She greeted him with a standard “good morning,” but found she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. He’ll know. _He’ll take one look at me and know. Shit. What’s he saying?_

“…so thank you for this,” he finished and handed her the iPod. She took it, careful not to touch his fingers.

“You don’t need to give this back yet. I said you could keep it a couple of days.”

“You didn’t hear me? I said I downloaded the entire catalog last night.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry,” she busied herself with a pot of glue. “I’m not awake enough yet, I guess.”

Once she started working on him, everything was fine. Even touching him wasn’t weird, because it was just so routine. She was even lucky enough that it was one of the mornings that Richard just wanted to close his eyes and be quiet, so she didn’t have to worry about avoiding eye contact.

The week was long and busy, and she didn’t have much time for outside thoughts; and when she went home at night, she was so tired that she’d fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. By Thursday, Troy had called four times and Maggie knew she’d have to talk to him. She’d been blown off by enough guys over the years that she couldn’t do the same to someone else. On Friday, he called during the dinner break and she answered. She told him she’d had a nice time (not a lie), but that it didn’t look like she’d be getting any days off for the foreseeable future (quite a big lie), and that she already had a job lined up for when production here wrapped up and she’d be going home as soon as they were done, anyway (not completely untrue). He was clearly disappointed, but understood and wished her well. She felt like a rat while she was talking to him and immediately thereafter, but by the time she went home that night, she’d put it completely out of her mind.

It had been such a tiring week, that Maggie figured Richard wouldn’t be up for Sunday night dinner, but he surprised her not only by asking about it on Saturday, as was his custom, but also by suggesting a venue change.

“Hey, how about dinner at mine tomorrow night?”

"Oh. Um…yeah, okay. But, uh…why? I mean, it just surprises me, that’s all.”

“You went so far above and beyond last weekend, and…no, you did, so don’t roll your eyes at me. And it’s always you doing the work, so it’s the least I can do.”

“You do your share of the dishes and some weeks you buy takeaway.”

“Yeah, well, we’re doing it differently this week.”

“ _I’m_ buying the takeaway?” She grinned.

“Ha. Nope, no one is buying takeaway.”

“You’re cooking?” She didn’t mean to sound as incredulous as she did. “Sorry. I mean, can I bring anything?”

“Your DVD collection? And shall we say five-thirty for six?”

She smiled. “Deal.”

After her weekly Skype date with Lizzie, Maggie considered her options for the day before going to Richard’s. Obviously, going riding was right out. She could go sparring, but that tended to have a similar effect on her, so she decided to go for a long run and then spend the day doing domestic things.! She hadn’t had any more dreams during the past week and she’d managed to be able to look him in the eye again, and she wanted things to stay that way. So she did laundry and cleaned, and then took a shower before driving over to Richard’s. He greeted her with a glass of wine at the door.

“Now this is service. I like this place,” she smiled. She didn’t know what he was making, but it smelled delicious. And he had Loreena McKennitt playing on his stereo.

“This place has something yours doesn’t,” he said and grinned as he led her in. “An actual for real grown-up dining table.”

She laughed. “Hey, I’m sure if my place was bigger I’d have one. But Mrs. Wallace said it was a choice between a table or a washer and dryer. If eating on the couch is the price of being able to do laundry at home, I’ll take that deal any day.”

“I don’t blame you. But it’s still fun to eat like an adult every once in a while.”

“It smells amazing. Anything I can do to help?”

Richard walked into the kitchen with her following. “Absolutely not. How many times had I been to your place before you’d let me so much as chop an onion?”

“You made pasta the first time you were ever there!”

“Correction: I _tried_ to make pasta, but you wouldn’t let me finish. Now, I’m sorry, but you have not earned kitchen privileges at my place.”

“Fine, Oakenchef. I will just stand here watching you do all the work.”

He pan fried chunks of chicken breasts in olive oil and garlic, before deglazing the pan with white wine; added zucchini, mushrooms, and tomatoes, and then put on water for pasta.

“I don’t even get to make the pasta?”

“Nope,” he grinned. “I’ll let you pour yourself another glass of wine, though.”She rolled her eyes but poured for both of them. “I, um, saw your friend Troy at the market this afternoon.”

Good thing she had finished pouring or she’d have definitely spilled. “Oh?”

“And he was very definitely only shopping for one.”

“Okay.” _Your point is what?_

“I just thought maybe after a week, you’d reconsidered and might want to call him.”

“Um…no. No, I haven’t and no, I don’t,” she said before taking a long sip of her wine. _Does he think he’s playing Cupid?_

“I’m sorry, Maggie. It’s none of my business and I should shut up. I just thought…”

She sighed. “It’s okay, you meant well. It’s my own fault. Maybe if I went out more often, doing so wouldn’t be such a remarkable occurrence and people wouldn’t want all the details. It really wasn’t him, it was me, cliché though that sounds. I just didn’t feel like we clicked and I didn’t want to waste time forcing something that wasn’t there. The world’s a happier place when I’m not in a relationship anyway. They make me a little crazy. Oh no, I’m not a bunny-boiler,” she said in answer to his raised eyebrow. “Relationships just tend to make me anxious and stressed and that’s not exactly an attractive quality. Lizzie would be happy to know this picture is still on your fridge.” _Not the most subtle change of subject there, Mairead._

Richard was kind enough to go with it. “And it will stay there until I pack to leave, and then it will be carefully shipped home and then framed,” he said with a smile. “Dinner is served.” He carried the plates through to the dining area and she followed with the wine, and they sat and started to eat. “ _Return of the King_ with dessert?”

“Well, we watched the first two…This is delicious!”

“Don’t sound so surprised!” He laughed. “Though I guess I deserve it. It shouldn’t have taken this long to do the cooking.”

“I haven’t minded. I like to cook. And I like takeaway.”

“Still. What you did last weekend…no, don’t argue with me, just listen.” He took a deep breath and wouldn’t meet her eyes. _Is he embarrassed?_ “I showed up drunk on your doorstep in the middle of the night, you took me in, you listened, you gave up your bed, and… if all of that wasn’t enough, and I think most people would have kicked me out – hell, _most_ people wouldn’t have opened the door – but then you got me out to your special place, gently kicked my whingy arse, and somehow managed to make me feel better. I know you think “hey, it’s what friends do” but not all friends would and I want you to know I appreciate it. And I’m sorry that I can’t really even tell you how much I appreciate it and what it means to me because I can’t put it into words, so you’re just going to have to take it on faith.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Okay, I’m done. _Now_ you can argue with me.”

"The things you say in that voice, Richard Armitage, should be illegal.” He had spoken so sincerely, so almost _vehemently_ that it threw her and she had to laugh to break the tension. “But I won’t argue with you. I’ll just say you’re welcome,” she smiled and they continued eating and chatting about everything and nothing. “Do I get to help with the dishes?” She asked when they finished and laughed when he gave her a look that said he wasn’t going to dignify her question with an answer. “Okay, okay. But if we’re going to watch a three-hour movie, you have to point me in the direction of your bathroom first.”

He did so and she went to use it. His place was…nice – tastefully furnished, but lacking in very much that made it his, though the same could probably be said for her place, too, she supposed. He did have one other thing that she lacked: a cleaning service. It’s not that she thought him a slob, it’s just that the whole place had that slightly too clean look that no one who actually lived somewhere could ever achieve.

When she finished in the bathroom, she found him in the living room with his finger poised to press ‘play’ and two bowls of dark chocolate ice cream. She smiled as she took one from him.

“You do know that this is not actually the best chocolate dessert, right?”

“Blasphemy! Get out of my house!”

She giggled. “Don’t get me wrong – this is a very close second, but dark chocolate mousse is better.”

He gasped dramatically. “And I thought I knew you,” he said, shaking his head. “All right, I’ll grant you mousse is good, but it’s harder to find than ice cream.”

“…which just makes it more satisfying when you do find it.”

“I think we have to face the fact that we are never going to agree, May-reed.”

“I think you’re right, Armitazh. But it’s okay, I can forgive you for being wrong. Morag thinks you’re too perfect anyway, so she’ll be glad to know you’re flawed.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m starting the movie now.”

The last couple of times they’d had Sunday night dinner, they’d ended the evening with the first two parts of the extended edition of _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. _Return of the King_ was her favorite, and she made Richard replay the part where Eowyn kills the Witch King three times. When he balked at a fourth, she pouted. “Please?” He opened his mouth as if to say something smart, but merely muttered “fine” before starting the scene over. Maggie laughed.

It wasn’t all hilarity, though. She’d managed to forget that this was the one film of the three that she’d never made it through without crying, and she _hated_ crying in front of people. When Gandalf comforted Pippin with a glimpse of what’s beyond Middle-Earth, she held it together. When Sam said “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you,” she kept the tears that had pooled in her eyes from spilling over. When Aragorn said “My friends…you bow to no one,” she was less successful but managed to wipe the few that escaped away surreptitiously. But when Gandalf said “I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil,” she was in trouble.

“Bathroom,” she said as she rose quickly and dashed out of the room.

“You want me to pause it?” he yelled after her.

“No, I’ve seen it four hundred times already.”

Once in the sanctuary of the bathroom, she tried to take deep breaths. She waved her hands in front of her eyes to try to dry the tears that were there. _Of course my mascara isn’t waterproof._ It took a few minutes and skillful application of a tissue to wick the moisture from her face ( _good thing I’m a makeup artist_ ), but she was satisfied that there was no evidence she’d been crying. She flushed for effect and went back out.

Richard was sitting completely at ease as the last of the credits rolled. “You know, there were tissues out here. You didn’t have to run away. You could have just, you know, cried.” He turned his head toward her with a look that was part bemused, part curious, and part accusatory.

“What?”

“There’s no shame in crying at a movie, Maggie.”

“I know that. But I don’t cry at movies.” She gave him a look that said that she fully expected this conversation to be over. He failed to notice.

“Except this one, apparently.”

“No, not this one. You think because I went to the bathroom that I was crying? I went to the bathroom because I had to go to the bathroom, Richard.”

He laughed. _The bastard_. “Oh, come on. What’s the big deal? It’s an emotional film. You’re _supposed_ to cry.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not good at doing what I’m supposed to do.”

He laughed even harder. “Why can’t you just admit it? You’re so ridiculously stubborn sometimes.”

She was pissed. Yes, because he was right, but that wasn’t the point. Why couldn’t he just leave it? “If I had cried,” she said through gritted teeth, “I’d admit it. But I didn’t cry, so there’s nothing to admit. Can we please be done with this now? Thank you.”

He shook his head. “Fine. You weren’t crying. I apologize,” he said, hand to his heart.

“May I at least rinse the dessert bowls?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I should get going then. Some arsehole prima donna actor wants to get an early start tomorrow,” she said as she collected her DVD folder.

“Yeah, I don’t know how you put up with that guy,” he answered and gave her such a cheeky look she couldn’t stay mad at him.

“Well…he has his good points.”

“Someday, maybe you can tell me what they are,” he said with his hand on the doorknob. The cheeky look was gone, replaced by… _Dear god in heaven. The smolder._

She laughed, a little shakily. “I wouldn’t want to inflate his ego. Thanks for dinner.” She smiled and knew it was just a touch too bright.

“Thanks for coming,” he said as he opened the door for her and stood aside…not quite far enough and it was impossible not to brush against him a little. She swore her hair stood on end.

“See you tomorrow,” she said with a little wave once she was through the door. She knew he answered, but she was already halfway down the walk and didn’t hear. She got to the car and forced herself to start it up and drive off calmly. Once she was around the corner, though, she screamed in frustration. “That! That look right there! How dare he look at me like that! He knows what he’s doing! He _knows_ it! It’s not fair! What am I? Inhuman? Immune? Am I not supposed to notice? How dare he have his fun like that! It’s! Not! Fair!”

She was home and she stomped up the steps to her door, slammed her way into the flat, and on into the bathroom where she took a very long, cold shower. Because she was on fire with anger. “Stupid fucking nosy bastard noticing I was crying. Couldn’t just let it go and let me have my dignity. NO! Then looking at me like that with his stupid perfect teeth and eyes and hair and mouth and voice like I was on the goddamn dessert menu. Thinks he’s being funny. Stupid fucker.”

She slammed her way out of the shower and into the bedroom where she aggressively donned a t-shirt and pair of panties before angrily getting in bed. Her last waking thought was that she was absolutely, positively forbidding herself from having any dreams about that arrogant, cocksure, arsehole. Fortunately, for Maggie’s peace of mind, her subconscious complied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those only reading this version of the story, the next chapter won't be posted until Wednesday the 20th. Narratively speaking, it makes more sense for Richard's chapter to be read first. Thank you for your patience and always, thanks so much for reading.


	14. He ain't heavy, he's my brother

To Maggie’s infinite relief, Richard seemed to lose his fascination with torturing her and she stopped worrying about having to face the smolder and/or the voice of seduction. It wasn’t just the frustration caused by it that was the problem, it was also that she honestly didn’t know how long she could pretend to ignore it before embarrassing herself by responding. Quite frankly, she was afraid that if he ever did decide he wanted to seduce her, he’d be successful. Instantly. Luckily, Richard seemed to have lost interest in the game.

Equally luckily, he seemed to rebound from his bout of self-doubt and threw himself wholeheartedly into his portrayal of Thorin and it was a privilege to watch. He still had his grumpy days from time to time, but in general, he was far more at ease. Maggie didn’t have to give up her bed for a drunken friend again.

Actually, the next time Maggie gave up her bed, _she_ was the drunk.

It was late April, and production was chugging along with the end in sight but still tantalizingly out of reach. The makeup department had fallen a bit behind on its stock of prosthetics, so Maggie (along with everyone else) had been putting in a few extra hours a day trying to catch up. Long days had suddenly become longer and more tiring. It was at the end of another exhausting week that she took a call from security saying someone had arrived to see her, and with her okay, he’d be escorted to her. When they told her who it was, she screamed in delight.

She threw open the door of the prosthetics truck and jumped out just in time to see her brother Rory disentangling himself from the security cart. She made the most undignified squeal of her life and ran at him at full speed, knowing he’d catch her as if she weighed nothing. Next to him, she didn’t. He laughed and folded her into a big bear hug, and when he let her go enough to get some air into her lungs, she slugged him in the arm.

“Oh Rory, you bloody giant numbtie! Why did you not tell me you were coming?”

Rory laughed again. “And miss seeing the look on yer face?”

“Well, what the hell are you doing here? Oh, Richard,” she said as she noticed him approaching, “come meet my brother. Richard, Rory. Rory, this is Richard Armitage.”

Rory raised an eyebrow. “Morag’s freebie?”

“Told you,” Maggie said to Richard with a snicker. Richard rolled his eyes and shook Rory’s hand. She wasn’t used to Richard looking small, but Rory dwarfed him. _Dwarfed him_ \- that made her snicker, too. “So are you going to tell me what you’re doing here, or what?” Maggie asked and poked her brother in the ribs.

“Settle yerself, Mad. Did you want me to answer yer question or meet yer friend?” He favored her with an indulgent smile. “I was in Jakarta for work and figured that was the closest I was ever going to come to being in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d come for a wee visit. But before ye get too excited, Mad, I only have until Tuesday. Then I have to fly back to Edinbra.”

Maggie pouted. “Only three days?”

“Mad?” Richard asked.

Maggie opened her mouth, hoping to answer before Rory could, but he was quicker. “From her initials, for one thing. And she was a really angry bairn, especially when someone was feeding her and didn’t shovel it in fast enough. She’d make these wee fists, and her face would go all red, and she’d scream. So…Mad.”

“Yes, thank you for the fascinating biography, Rory. You can shut up now.”

Richard laughed. “Well, enjoy your evening, _Mad_. Rory, thanks for the info. It was a pleasure.” Rory laughed and they shook hands again. Maggie wasn’t sure which of them she wanted to kill more.

“Thanks for that,” Maggie said as she swatted him. “He’s going to dine out on it for the rest of the shoot, I just know it.”

“My pleasure, Mad. Anything for my favorite sister.” He grinned as he clenched his fists and screwed up his face like an angry child.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Come on, I’ve got some cleaning up to do and you can sit and charm everyone while I do it. But no more stories about me. Got it?”

“Yer wish is my command.”

To Maggie’s relief, Rory behaved himself while she finished up for the night and he introduced himself to the entire makeup department. When she was done, they accepted Natalie’s invitation to join everyone for a night in the pub. But first, they were going to stop off at Maggie’s so Rory could stow his luggage and Maggie could leave her car. Walking to and from the pub was safer, and they wouldn’t have to go fetch the car in the morning. There was no doubt in either hers or Rory’s mind that they’d end the evening in no condition to drive.

“Christ, Mad. This is where you’re living? It’s so wee.”

Maggie laughed. “It’s big enough. I’m never here anyway – Sunday is my only day off. And this place is cheaper than dirt. I was really lucky to find it,” she led the way to her bedroom. “You can keep your stuff in here. I’ll take the couch.”

“Oh no, I’m not turning ye out of yer bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Maggie snorted. “You’ll not fit, ye bampot, and you’ll end up on the floor. The couch is comfortable enough for me. There are some nights I’m so tired I never make it to the bed, anyway.”

On their way out, they ran into Mrs. Wallace.

“Rory, this is Mrs. Wallace, my landlady and neighbor. Mrs. Wallace, this i-“

“Oh my, you are a large one, aren’t you?” Mrs. Wallace laughed, then turned to Maggie. “But don’t tell me you’ve broken it off with your young man, dear. Such a shame – you looked quite darling together, but this is quite the replacement,” she added with a wink.

“No, Mrs. Wallace,” Maggie laughed. “This is Rory, _my brother_. And I’ve told you – Richard and I are just friends. Nothing else.”

“Yes, so you’ve said, dear,” the old lady replied in a tone that suggested she thought it all so much rubbish. “You two enjoy your evening.”

They thanked her and went on their way. They’d actually walked a block or two and Maggie thought maybe Rory was going to let what Mrs. Wallace said slide, but of course, she couldn’t be that lucky.

“So… You and the dishy actor, eh? A “thing”, are ye?”

“Only in Mrs. Wallace’s mind.”

“And why, exactly, is it in her mind?” When Maggie merely shrugged nonchalantly, he pressed on. “Does she visit the studio often, then, yer Mrs. Wallace?”

“No, she’s never been there that I know of. Why?”

It was Rory’s turn to shrug. “I just wondered how she knows ye and Richard look so darling together,” he said with a smirk.

She really should have seen that coming. “He…comes over sometimes – for dinner on Sunday nights. Sometimes we watch a movie, but it’s nothing. We’re just friends, whether Mrs. Wallace wants to believe it or not.”

“Sure about that, are ye?”

“Yes, I’m sure! God, Rory. He and I work together for fuck’s sake. And when have you ever known me to be with an actor?”

“Well…never. But first time for everything, as they say.”

“Well, not this thing and not now. Not ever.”

“So ye’ve said, dear.”

Maggie just laughed and he joined in. Sometimes refusing to take the bait was the best defense. They got to the pub and found Natalie and a few others at a corner table. They ordered food and many rounds of drinks, and a good time was had by all until someone mentioned karaoke. Then it became hilarious. Natalie did “I Kissed a Girl”, Justin - Natalie's boyfriend of the moment - did “I’m Too Sexy”, and Natalie signed Maggie and Rory up to do “500 Miles” by the Proclaimers. They both protested that it was too stereotypical, but they did it anyway – much to everyone’s delight. When Maggie got back to the table, Natalie handed her the song list.

“You have to do a real one now.”

“I just did one!”

“Yeah, no, by yourself. You can sing, girl! We want to hear you.” Everyone at the table agreed – including Rory.

“Go on then, Mairead. Ye do it all the time at home.”

Maggie laughed. “Someone needs to buy me another drink first.” Four shots of whisky were immediately placed in front of her. She drank two and after consulting the list, chose “Chain of Fools”. With one more shot of whisky for luck, she got up and sang, and her little fan group applauded and yelled as if she were a rock star. She couldn’t get back to the table to hide behind Rory fast enough. When another group took over karaoke, Maggie’s friends migrated to the dart board, leaving her alone at the table with her brother.

“So…what’s going on wi’ Allison?”

Rory gave her a dirty look. “Don’t start, Mad.”

“Start what, Rory? I just asked how your girlfriend was.” It quickly became clear that Rory was going to pretend he couldn’t hear her, so she spoke louder. “So how is she, Rory? Has she left ye yet because ye willnae marry her?”

“Mad…” he said, with his jaw clenched.

“Do ye want to start a family wi’ her?” He deigned to nod. “Well, all she wants is for her name to be the same as her children’s. Why the hell can ye no’ give her that?”

“Drop it, Mairead. How many have ye had,” he asked as she knocked over an empty glass.

She shrugged. “Don’t know. How many have _you_ had?”

“Shite,” he muttered as he pushed any alcohol out of her reach and shoved a glass of water at her. “Drink this, ye’ve been cut off.”

“Ye cannae cut me off,” she frowned. “It’s Hamish that owns the pub.”

“Like hell I can’t. Ye can’t keep up with me, Mad. Ye’re like a tenth my size. Drink the water, then we’re going home.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but did drink the water. She hated when he started acting all parental. _Just because he’s twenty times bigger than me…_

When Maggie finished the water, Rory made her drink another. When she finished that one, he graciously allowed her a bathroom visit and then they said good night to her friends and he marched her out of the pub. She let him relax for a block or so then started in on him again. _Stupid stubborn bastard who doesn’t know what’s good for him._

“Ye’re going to be wi’ her until the end of time, ye know. I mean, ye’re already practically married, so what’s the big deal, anyway?”

“Mairead…drop. It.”

“Not until ye tell me why, Rory. Just gie me one good reason. One good reason why ye’re an idiot that doesnae know what’s good for ‘im.”

“And yer personal life is in such stellar shape then, is it?”

“We’re not talkin’ about me,” she said haughtily. _Don’t change the subject. It’s hard enough to think right now._

“Oh no, we never talk about _you!_ God forbid!” He moved in front of her so she had to stop walking and listen. “Ye can tell _everybody_ else how to run their lives, but ye can’t figure out how to run yer own! Bloody wee harpy trying to die alone!”

“FUCK YOU,” she screamed and aimed a kick at his shin that missed. “MAYBE IF YE WERENAE SUCH A BLIND MORON, I’D NOT HAVE TO TELL YE HOW TO RUN YER LIFE! YE’RE A BLOODY FUCKIN’ STUPID EEJIT WI’ NO MORE SENSE THAN GOD GAVE A ROCK, RORY DRUMMOND! AN’ IF YE’D JUST USE THE GIANT THICK STUPID FUCKIN’ LUMP ON TOP O’ YER NECK FOR ONE FUCKIN’ MINUTE YE’D KNOW HOW FUCKIN’ STUPID YE ARE!”

Someone was yelling somewhere. Someone who wasn’t Rory or her, but she couldn’t figure out where the sound was coming from or who it was. Her brother had managed to back a step or two away from her while she was distracted, and she was just about to move after him when an arm came out of nowhere and snaked around her waist.

“…STOP YELLING!”

Suddenly, she was lifted off her feet and forcibly hauled away from Rory.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YE AND WHAT THE FU- Richard?” She squinted up at him. “What ye doin’ here?”

“Keeping you from getting arrested.”

“Arrested? For what? WHO’S ARRESTIN’ ME?”

“Maggie, you need to stop yelling. Someone is going to hear you and call the police…if they haven’t already.”

_Yelling. Yeah, that’s what I was doing. At my fucking moron brother._ “YELLIN’? I’LL FUCKIN’ STOP YELLIN’ WHEN THAT AMADAN ST-“

Richard clamped his hand over her mouth and her eyes went wide. _How very fucking dare he?_ Somewhere, and she wasn’t sure where, Rory laughed and Richard grabbed her arm like he thought she was going to pull away. Which was probably a good idea. _Pull away. Or maybe I could bite his ha-_

“Don’t you dare bite my hand, Maggie Drummond. If I let you go, are you going to keep yelling?” Reluctantly, she shook her head. There were two of them and they were much bigger than she was. She’d never be able to take them _both_ down. He let go and she glared at him. “Good. Now, how about I give you and Rory a lift back to your flat, eh?”

“Um, how about no? Pretty sure my brither an’ I can handle it from here, but thanks, Oakenscout.”

Rory laughed. “Well, I can handle it from here; _you’d_ likely pass out before we got there. Let the man drive us home, Mad.”

She rounded on him. “WHY DON’T YOU BLOODY SH-“

“ENOUGH!” Suddenly, Richard was between her and Rory and she hadn’t even seen him move. He was as close as he could possibly be and she had to crane her neck to look up into his face. _Holy shit, is he mad._ It took everything she had not to back up a step and cede ground. “You will stop yelling,” he said through gritted teeth, “and get in my car and let me drive you home.”

“The hell I will,” she said in perfect imitation of his tone.

“Maggie, if you don’t, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you there.”

“Ye wouldnae dare.”

He smiled. The bastard smiled. And it was an entirely evil smile, too. Evil and sexy and… And it distracted her, and she couldn’t think and then faster than she’d have thought possible she was hanging upside down over his shoulder. The bastard actually did it. _Wait – I can get out of this. What do I do? Oh, that’s right – kick. Damn, he knew about that. Fuck. What is the point of having a giant for a brother if he won’t come rescue me? Crap, I can’t breathe._

“Put me down! Shit! Rory, make him stop!”

Rory merely laughed from somewhere far away. She’d have to free herself then. _But really, is this the worst place to be? Yes! He can’t do this. Hit him. As hard as you can. Make him drop you._ But she was upside down and nothing seemed to work right and all she could reach was his…arse. _Oh man, Morag would KILL me if she knew I had this chance and didn’t take it._ She started to laugh.

“Rory?”

“Yes, Mad?”

“Tell Morag.”

“Tell Morag what?”

“Tell Morag…that I…did THIS!”

And then she grabbed two handfuls of Richard’s arse and squeezed. _Oh god, his arse is perfect. It’s so firm and rou-_

“MAIREAD,” Richard yelled and dropped her and her feet hit the ground hard. _He used my name. My actual name. He’s never done that. Well once, when we first met but never since. And he makes it sound so… Oh fuck, he’s angry._ “Get in the car, Maggie…NOT in the front, that’s the only place Rory will fit. You get in the back.” She tried to glare at him, but the look he gave her was… _Shit._ “Behind Rory so I can keep an eye on you, please.”

Maggie got in and slid to the passenger’s side silently. As he drove to Maggie’s, Richard occasionally glanced back at her. She would not do him the honor of acknowledging him. _Smug bastard. Thinking he can just throw me around like some ragdoll. I don’t care how bloody angry he is. I’m angrier._

“Are you all right back there?”

She refused to answer, preferring instead to pretend he didn’t exist. Or that he was merely her chauffeur and talking to the servants was beneath her. _That’s it. He’s beneath me._

When he pulled to a stop by her place, she stumbled out of his car as quickly as she could to get away, but she stopped dead when she saw the moon above her.

“Rory! The moon,” she said as she stared up at the sky. “What time is it at hame?” Rory shrugged.

“A little after ten in the morning,” she heard Richard say.

“So she cannae see it. She can never see it the same time I can,” Maggie said, ready to cry.

“Sing it anyway, lass,” Rory said softly. “I’ll tell her ye did.”

Maggie shook her head sadly. “She says it isnae right if we cannae actually both see it.”

“But ye’ll feel better if ye do, and Lizzie will know ye were thinking about her.” Rory laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Go on, love.”

“ _I see the moon/And the moon sees me./The moon sees somebody I’d like to see./So God bless the moon,/And God bless me,/And God bless the somebody I’d like to see_.”

She felt Rory kiss her on top of her head and suddenly she just wanted her bed. She wanted to cry and she was damned if she’d do it in front of Richard. Her brother wouldn’t be so bad, she supposed, but the arsehole who’d just thrown her over his shoulder wouldn’t leave. She turned to take the stairs, but she stumbled. Rory caught her before she fell and that just slowed her down so she punched him in the arm. Once inside, Maggie headed straight for the sitting room. Without looking, she knew they were _both_ following her.

“You lads can do whatever ye want. I’m going to bed. Well, couch,” she said, throwing herself down on the aforementioned furniture. She had her eyes closed already. _If I keep them closed, I won’t cry_.

Richard asked, “Because Rory doesn’t fit, right?”

_Oh leave me alone, you nosy thing._ “Yes. God, the only two men I can get into my bed are my brother and _you_. How fucking sad and pathetic is that?”

“I was drunk,” she heard Richard say. “And she slept on the couch, I swear.” _Rory. That’s right, Rory’s here. Beat him up, Rory. He slept in my bed._

“Oh aye, that I believe,” Rory answered. _Dammit. What’s the point of having you around, anyway, if you won’t beat up smug bastards with perfect arses that make me want them? Too busy taking off my bloody shoes to do what you should_. “Would ye mind getting her a bottle of water,” he asked Richard. “My thanks,” he said a few moments later as he helped her sit back up. “Come on ye wee harpy. Let’s get this down ye.” He let her lean against his hand while she drank then lowered her back d…

_She was over his shoulder again, but this time she was laughing. So was he. His delectable arse was right there, just out of reach. She wiggled to get closer._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“I want to bite it.”_

_He laughed again and gently let her down, sliding her body down the length of his before wrapping his arms around her and kissing her._

_“Only if I get to bite yours, too,” he said in a voice that practically dripped with sin, as he cupped one of her arse cheeks and squeezed._

_“Is that a threat?” She grinned up at him._

_His too-blue eyes bored holes in her and he smirked. “No, Mairead. It’s a promise.”_

_Suddenly, he had her off her feet again as he lifted her to pin her to a wall and impale h…_

Her phone woke her, thank goodness. It was just an email, but it saved her from another sex dream about Richard. She’d been doing so well in that department, too. Shit. It was his fault, really. And what the hell was up with all the dominant Richard crap? If anything ever happened between them – which it wouldn’t – that would require a level of trust of which she was not capable. Damn him. Him and his perfect ar… _Oh no, I grabbed his arse last night. Oh fuck. He’d been so mad because I… Oh god, he could get me fired!_

Her phone beeped again. It was a text message from… She damn near threw the thing across the room. _Him. Okay, calm down and see what he wants._ Maybe he’d give her a chance to apologize.

_Hey, are you awake yet? I come bearing breakfast._

What was this? Her last meal before the execution? _Where are you? What kind of breakfast?_

_Standing on your sidewalk, and full fry-up._

She got up to look out the window and saw him there with a couple of grocery bags in one hand and his phone in the other. Damn, it’s bright. Come up.

He wouldn’t bring food if he meant to make a sexual harassment complaint against her, would he? She had the door open for him when he got upstairs and she hoped she was alert and awake enough to gauge his mood.

“Before you say I didn’t have to do this, I know I didn’t. But I noticed last night that you didn’t have very much in the way of food in, so I thought this might help. And hey, you fed me when I was hungover.”

She gave him a weak smile. _He certainly doesn’t seem pissed._ “I’m too tired to argue with you. Thank you. Rory’s not up yet, but I’ll get started.”

“Um, no, you won’t,” he said and held the grocery bags out of her reach. “I’m not just the delivery boy, I’m here to cook it, too. And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t argue about that, either,” he added as he stared her down.

Quite frankly at this point, she’d have acquiesced to anything he asked. _Just please don’t get me fired. I should apologize. Generically, though, because I was drunk so maybe I don’t remember everything. Yeah, that’s it._

“I, um…I want to apologize for last night. I don’t actually remember too much but, I, uh, I’m sure I was obnoxious.” _That’s it. Admit nothing until you HAVE to._

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for… _Mad_ ,” he replied with his most blinding smile. “Nothing at all.”

He gave her two bottles of a green sports drink he’d brought – one for her and one for Rory. That smile told her that he knew damn well she remembered what she’d done, but he was letting her off the hook. Not wanting to tempt fate or anger him, she allowed herself to be shooed from her kitchen.

Rory was just coming out of the bedroom as she settled herself on the couch. “Do I smell food?”

“No,” she answered with a short laugh.

“ _Could_ I smell food?”

She laughed longer then. Rory was psychic where food was concerned. "Actually, yes. Richard’s here and he’s cooking.”

“Oh, aye? And does he do this often?”

“No, you unsubtle jerk. This is the first time. I think he just wants to make sure I don’t kill you.”

“I swear ye were going to last night. I know, I know, it’s because I’m stupid. Ye made that abundantly clear.”

“You are, you know,” she said fondly.

“So ye keep telling me,” he chuckled and ruffled her hair and she snuggled up next to him.

“For real, though. You love her, Rory, and you’re _in_ love with her. And god help her, she’s in love with you. She knows what an arse you are and she still manages to worship the ground you walk on. You are never, ever going to find anyone better for you than she is. And you’re good for her - you’re different when you’re with her. Is there someone else you want?”

“God, no!”

“Then marry the girl, you daftie.”

“You need a man.”

She snorted. “Why? Do you think if I had one that I’d stop nagging you? Ha! Besides, there’s a drawer in my night table that could argue that I do not, in fact, need a man.”

“Oh god,” Rory groaned and made a face, “ye’re so inappropriate!”

Maggie laughed. “Okay, Arbiter of Appropriateness. Remind me again who it was who announced during Gran’s birthday dinner one year that he was growing hair ‘round his willie?”

Rory chuckled. “Hey! It was the first and only time I ever did anything before Hamish! It was a very momentous occasion.”

“Remember the cake Gran made you the next day? “Congratulations on your curlicues, Rory!”” They both laughed even harder.

“Yeah, and remember Da asking ye if ye knew what the curlicues were?”

Maggie was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “And I said I had no idea but as long as there was cake it didn’t matter!”

At that moment, Richard came out to the sitting room with a plate for both of them. _Oh shit, I forgot he was here. Did he hear the bit about the sex toys?_

“I like this man, Mad,” Rory said as he took his.

“Yeah, he’s all right,” she said with a smile but then frowned. “You didn’t make any for yourself?”

“I couldn’t carry three, Maggs, and I didn’t feel like balancing one on my head,” Richard answered before going back to fetch his own. He brought it out and sat and tucked in.

“This is great of ye, mate. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Maggie agreed. “But what are we keeping you from?”

“You’re welcome and nothing. I have plans this afternoon with Luke, but I’m free until then. So Rory, you said you were in Jakarta for work?”

“Aye,” Rory answered between bites. “I’m a structural engineer and I was consulting on a drainage project.”

“Drainage project,” Maggie repeated. “Is that engineer-speak for poop tubes?”

Rory laughed. “Aye, and I haven’t washed my hands since,” he said as he palmed her face and she squealed.

When they finished eating, Maggie steadfastly refused to let Richard do any of the cleanup, and insisted they not take up any more of his morning. She walked him to the door and thanked him three more times.

“Maggie, stop. You’re welcome,” he said, chuckling.

“You’ll be back for dinner?”

“No, but thank you. You don’t get that much time with Rory, so enjoy it while you can. But please try not to kill him. I don’t know what the bail laws are here.”

Maggie laughed. “Understood.”

She set the pan Richard had used to soak after he left, and went back out to the sitting room to collect their plates.

“Nice man, that Richard. Hamish will be horrified.”

Maggie laughed. “Yeah, I guess he’s easier to hate when you can think he’s a complete dickhead who kicks puppies and hates his mother.”

“Shame ye’re not together. Yer Mrs. Wallace is right – you two do look darling,” he said with a grin.

Maggie snorted. “Please. That man could have any woman he wanted.”

“I’m relatively sure ye’re entirely right about that, Mad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What? I was agreeing with ye, ye tawpie.”

“Right,” she said, not at all convinced. “I’ll just be glad if he doesn’t get me fired.”

“Fired? Why the hell would he do that?”

“I grabbed his arse, Rory,” she said as she carried the dishes through to the kitchen and he followed.

“Yer point?”

“It’s sexual harassment. Doesn’t matter that he’s a man and I’m a woman. I can’t be doing things like that. And it’s…well, not the first time I’ve assaulted him.” She cringed.

“Oh?”

“A couple of months ago, I worked myself into an absolutely enormous panic attack when I went to leave the studio for the night. Richard happened to be leaving at the same time, and…well, he’d never seen a panic attack before and he thought he was helping.”

“He told ye to calm down, didn’t he?”

Maggie nodded. “Had me by the shoulders, too. All I could think of was just getting him _off_ of me as fast as possible, so I double tapped him. Thing is, I really didn’t have much of an idea how strong he might be, so I kinda did it a bit harder than was strictly necessary. There’s no way I didn’t leave bruises. He never said anything, but…” She shrugged. “And now I’ve grabbed his arse.”

“Yeah, how was that, by the way?”

“Oh lord, it felt even better than it loo- I mean…shit.” She could feel herself blushing as Rory laughed.

“I’ll be sure to tell Morag ye approve of the Oakenarse, Mad. And I wouldn’t worry about him getting ye fired. I don’t think he minded, I mean, you know, it didn’t much faze him I shouldn’t think. Ye’re probably not the first woman to do it.”

“No, I’m sure I’m not. Why don’t you go shower while I get my kitchen sorted? I’ve thought of something we can do this afternoon, if ye’re up for it.”

“Oh, aye?”

“How would you like to go beat the crap out of each other?”

They spent that afternoon sparring with each other and the stunties, and it was decided that Rory absolutely had to be one of the extra bodies standing around Lake-town during filming the next day. Even though no prosthetics were involved, Maggie herself worked on him, making him look thoroughly disreputable in the process. He rather relished his role as Lake-town bum. On Tuesday morning, he got up with her to see her off to work as he’d be leaving for the airport a few hours later.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Maggie said as she hugged him tight.

“Me too.”

“Tell everyone I love them, will ye?”

“They already know, lass, but I will.”

“Text me when you land, yeah?” she said as she started down the steps.

“I will, love. And Mad? I bought the ring three weeks ago. I just had to wait until it was engraved,” he said with a grin and went back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> amadan (AM-uh-dan): Gaelic for fool. And speaking of fools, here's the version of the song that Maggie sang: [Chain of Fools](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tvzw1Cy27lE)


	15. A foul curse is upon me

Maggie was picking glue off her fingers after she removed Jed’s prosthetics on Tuesday night when Richard sat in her chair.

“Did Rory get away okay?”

“I assume so,” she answered, nodding. “I’ve not heard anything.”

“Good to know… _Aretha_.” And there was the smirk.

Maggie sighed. She’d been getting comments like that off and on all day. “Et tu, Oakenbrute?” _Why did I think only the makeup department had seen it? Dammit, Natalie!_

“Oakenbrute – I like that one. Very Shakespearean,” he said with a grin. “That may be my favorite so far.” Maggie just shook her head and started gathering the things she’d need to remove Richard’s face. “You know, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied distractedly without looking at him.

“I was wondering, are there any pictures of Mad Mairead the pirate queen? I’d really love to see her.”

_Is he leering? It sounds like he’s leering!_ Her head whipped around to face him, but all she saw was benign curiosity.

“Rory is so very, very dead,” she said as she rolled her eyes and Richard laughed. “There’s a website. If you _really_ want to see, I can send you the link.”

“Please do.”

“Just do me a favor, yeah? Don’t tell anyone else. Please. The karaoke thing is bad enough – I don’t need that stuff being shared around, too.”

“Maggie, I solemnly swear that I will keep it all to myself.”

She frowned at him, convinced she was missing something, but again his face gave nothing away. In fact, he had his eyes closed. She spent the time it took to remove his prosthetics and makeup plotting various ways to kill her brother, each more painful than the last. _Fucking Rory_. When she turned Richard loose, she stretched her back and sighed.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired. And I wish Rory could have stayed longer…even if I do want to kill him,” she added with a small smile.

“After seeing the two of you on Saturday night, I’m surprised you let him leave alive. Do you always fight like that?”

“Often enough - we always have. I may have come by my nickname honestly, but I’m not the only one with a temper,” she smiled. “You’re probably wondering what it was all about.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious, but I wouldn’t ask you to tell me.”

“Well, you did almost witness a murder, so…” she shrugged. “Rory and his girlfriend have been together…let’s see…fifteen years now, living together for twelve, and well, her clock is ticking and she wants to start a family. He does too, but the fly in the ointment is that she really would prefer to do things in a fairly traditional order.”

“She wants to get married and he doesn’t.”

“Aye. I’m one of those people who doesn’t think marriage is some kind of ultimate goal – plenty of people get married and say the words and don’t really mean them, and there are those who commit to someone else without the piece of paper, but I get her point. She wants her name to be the same as her bairns’, and with them, well, they’re already “married” in their hearts and minds so what’s the big deal about making it official? The joke was on me, of course, because the big dumb bastard already bought her a ring and he just let me have a go at him so he could argue back,” she chuckled fondly as she started to close up shop for the night.

Richard laughed. “He risked death just to argue with you?”

“Pretty much, yes,” she said as she joined him in laughter, but then she realized they were alone in the trailer and decided there was something she needed to address. “Um…I wanted to…well, thank you for not getting me fired.” She turned away and straightened things in her work area that didn’t need to be straightened.

“Excuse me?”

“For what I did Saturday night.” She knew she was blushing furiously and couldn’t look at him.

“Aretha, I already told you you didn’t have anything to apologize for.”

She looked at him sideways. “I think we _both_ know that’s not true.”

He grinned. “Oh. So you _do_ remember?”

“Yes,” she said and felt her face go bright red again, so she turned away. “And there is absolutely no way for me to apologize enough, and I swear to you I’m not just saying that because you have a very good case for sexual harassment against me and I just-“

“Maggie, relax, please.” _Jesus, I’m about ten seconds away from a panic attack. Why can’t I keep my damn mouth shut?_ “Hey,” he said as he slid a finger under her chin and turned her to face him. She saw him start to say something, reject it, swallow, and then try again. “I thought it was funny.” He smiled as he dropped his hand. “It was just research for Morag, right?”

She laughed, shakily. “Absolutely.” _It was, wasn’t it?_

“Besides, do you really expect me to break in a new makeup person this late? Why should _I_ be punished because you can’t keep your hands off my – how did you put it – “firm, round” arse?”

Her hands flew to her face. “I said that out loud?”

Richard roared with laughter. “Oh yeah, you did. But my point, May-reed, is that you have a ridiculous amount of job security. You have _nothing_ to worry about, okay?”

Still embarrassed and wishing a hole would open up and swallow her, Maggie nodded. Richard bid her good night and reminded her to send him the link to the pirate pictures. She’d hoped he’d forgotten. The only good thing, she knew, was that no excitement ever lasted very long on a film set. There was always something bigger and better causing chins to wag, and her Wellington karaoke debut would likely not even be a blip on the makeup department radar by the morning, and as long as Richard kept the pirate pictures to himself - if she even “remembered” to send him the link… As she walked into her flat that night, she got a text from Richard.

_Link, please?_

So much for forgetting. _Fucking Rory._ A bit later, she got another text.

_It’s a good look for you. Very fierce. See you tomorrow, matey. Arr._

_If you start talking like a pirate in the chair tomorrow, you’ll beg to walk the plank before I’m done with you, you scurvy cur._

For approximately the thousandth time in Maggie’s adulthood, she wondered what her life had even become. Here she was at the bottom of the world, exchanging pirate texts with a movie star as though it were the most normal thing ever. Blessedly, Richard’s curiosity seemed to be sated and he didn’t mention her piratical past again and true to his word, didn’t share. Maggie was thankful. It wasn’t that Maggie was in any way ashamed or embarrassed by it, she just didn’t like or want attention for it. She chuckled yet again at the irony of choosing to work in an industry that elevated attention-seeking to an art form.

Maggie enjoyed a couple of days of quiet routine, which were interrupted when she woke up Friday morning with the worst cramps of her life – the kind that made her think she was about to give birth to every one of her internal organs simultaneously, the kind that made getting ready for work nearly impossible and unbearable, the kind that made her wonder how she’d ever get through her day. And, of course, this was one of those days that Richard had asked her to come in early. She got to the prosthetics truck and got set up, then curled into a ball on the floor in a corner and prayed either to feel better or just die. That’s where Richard found her.

“Jesus, Maggie, are you all right?”

She’d have laughed at the concerned look on his face if she wasn’t in so much pain. She waved him off and got up with difficulty. “Headache,” she said as she pointed to her head. “Have a seat.” He was eying her dubiously. “What? I’m fine. It’s just a headache.”

“Do you have a clean craft knife?”

“Uh…yeah,” she said and turned to look for one as he started rummaging in his bag for something. “Here.”

He took it and used it to cut something on her counter. “Here you go,” he said as he handed her a half of a pill and a bottle of water.

“What’s this?”

“A muscle relaxer. Well, half of one. It should take the edge off without knocking you out.”

“A muscle relaxer? Richard, I said I have a headache.”

“I know what you _said._ But do you think you’re the first woman I’ve ever known? In my experience, when a woman goes fetal and has a look on her face like you have, she needs a muscle relaxer. Well, a muscle relaxer, a pair of sweatpants, a heat pad, chocolate, hot tea, a blanket, and chick flicks, but you don’t have time for all of that right now.”

“I don’t watch chick flicks,” she frowned.

“Mm, so you’ve said. The rest is true, though, isn’t it? Take it, Maggs. Go on.”

She thanked him and did as she was told. “Why don’t you sit so we can get started?”

“You can give it some time to work.”

She shook her head. “I can manage, and you wanted to start early, so sit.”

He did and she got to work, and within a half hour, she slowly started to move easier. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she’d have made it through the morning without Richard’s help. At the lunch break, he gave her the other half of the pill. She’d needed it, but what she really wanted was to go home. Sweatpants and chick flicks sounded like bliss. Not much chance of that happening, though…but then there was a miracle. There was some kind of technical problem with the camera system and filming had to halt for the day. It wasn’t even dinner time. After she was done with the de-Dwarfing, a relieved Maggie made her way to the parking lot.

“Italian, Thai, Chinese, or Indian?”

“I…what?”

Richard was leaning against her car. “Italian, Thai, Chinese, or Indian,” he repeated.

“It’s not Sunday.”

He smiled. “Your folks won’t let you have a friend over on a school night?”

_God, he’s adorable sometimes. Well, all the time._ She gave him a tired smile. “Thanks for the offer, bu-“

“Maggie, you still have to eat.”

“I know, but really, how many early nights do we get? Go enjoy yours.”

“See, the thing is, I have to eat too, so does it really matter if I do it at my place or yours? And if I do it at yours, I can make sure _you_ eat. And I can even make you hot tea. I am English, after all.”

“It’s really nice of you, but I’ll be fi-“

He heaved an enormous sigh and looked skyward. “Why are you _so_ stubborn?”

“I-“

“Last week, you took ibuprofen to Adam during a reset because you said he “looked” like he had a headache when he’d only just realized he did. You helped work a Charlie horse out of Natalie’s leg. You cover for other makeup people for everything from dentist’s appointments to the flu. You helped haul cable two days ago, and God knows how many times you’ve helped me up to and including taking me in drunk in the middle of the night. You take care of everyone around you, all the time. Well, who takes care of _you_ , Maggie? Huh? Who takes care of _you_?”

It was the hormones. The hormones and the muscle relaxer. They were the reasons she was caught off guard. They were the reasons her eyes filled instantly and she had to look away and swallow hard and just keep blinking. But then she cloaked herself in every bit of strength she had, took a deep breath, set her jaw, looked him dead in the eye and said, “I do.”

“Not tonight,” he said quietly. “Tonight, you let _me_ take care of you. Please, Maggie.” He made it sound like a plea.

Maggie could have argued, but she knew no matter how hard she tried, he wouldn’t let her win. The look on his face told her that even if she refused and went home, he’d just show up with food anyway and demand to be let in. She didn’t trust herself to speak at the moment, so she merely nodded.

“Good. Now, are you going to choose between Italian, Chinese, Indian, or Thai, or am I going to go to all four and show up with way more food than any two people can eat in a week? Because I swear to you, Maggie, I _will_ do that,” he said as one corner of his mouth twitched.

She rolled her eyes and gave in completely. “Chinese, please.”

“Thank you. Now, you go home and have a bath or whatever it is that you women do in these situations and I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Yes, sir, Oaken…something.”

“Oaken _something?_ That’s the best you can do?”

“Well, I don’t feel well, do I?”

Richard laughed and finally stood aside so she could get in her car. Once home, she did indeed have a bath before changing into sweatpants and her gargantuan Charlie’s Army sweatshirt.

“Oakenführer,” she said when she opened the door for him.

“Excuse me?”

“Oakenführer. It’s what I should have called you earlier.”

He laughed. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

“Oh, when I was starting my car. I’d have texted you, but I really just wanted to come home. What do we need? Bowls? Plates?”

“Shoo,” he answered and she frowned. “Before you say anything, yes, I know you’re capable and you’re not an invalid, blah, blah, blah. But I also know you could go sit your adorable little arse on the couch and let me get the kettle on and bring out the food.” Her frown deepened. “I’m sorry, was that sexual harassment? You’re not going to get me fired, are you?” He winked.

“No, it wasn’t sexual harassment, it was you making fun of me.”

“Yep. Now, shoo.”

Reluctantly, she shooed and ensconced herself on the couch. She was half asleep when she heard him coming out of the kitchen. He’d made a pot of tea and put the food in proper bowls.

“We usually eat out of the containers.”

“Hey, I said I was going to take care of you tonight and I plan to do it right, if you don’t mind. Now, did you have any wine when you came home?” She shook her head. “Good,” he said as he poured her a cup of tea. “It means you can have this.” He handed her another half of a muscle relaxer, which she took. “So do you want to start with steamed dumplings, chicken and water chestnuts, or shrimp mei fun?”

“The chicken, please.”

Maggie was surprised to find that for as awful as she felt, she _was_ actually hungry, and this place they’d found was the best. She ended up eating way more than she’d intended, but she felt better for it. Well, for that and the muscle relaxer. She didn’t even protest when Richard announced he was going to put the leftovers away and make another pot of tea.

“So I was looking through the rest of the pictures on your clan’s website,” Richard said as he returned to the sitting room. “What was with the short hair? You practically shaved your head. Was it some other persona?”

“No, it, uh…it was just a phase,” she shrugged. “Hey, it’s still early. You want to watch a movie?” she asked as he handed her a mug of tea.

“Sure. But…how about one from the green folder?”

She froze with the cup halfway to her mouth. _What’s he playing at?_ “No, not the green folder. That’s not movies.”

“What is it, then?”

“Just, um…makeup tutorials and research-y things and such. Very dry and boring, I’m afraid,” she said and buried her nose in her tea.

“Or is it your collection of chick flicks – which you don’t watch?”

Her eyes flew up to meet his, but then dropped back down again. “I, um…” If she could have shrunk into the couch, she would have. She certainly tried to. “How long have you known and why were you snooping?”

“Since the first night I ate dinner here, when you went out to get wine. Yes, before you fed me that crap about tutorials,” he said in answer to her surprised look. “And I didn’t really think it was snooping. Both of the folders were on the shelf next to the telly, and I was just curious about what kind of films you were into.”

“Oh,” she said as she examined the dregs in her cup. She didn’t know what else to say.

“What’s the big deal, Maggie? Are you embarrassed? Did you think I’d laugh? Help me out here.” He didn’t sound upset or angry, just curious.

“I’m not embarrassed, no.”

“Then why? Even today you said, “I don’t watch chick flicks.” Why?”

“Can we please just drop this? I’m sorry I lied to you, I really am, but please. Just let it go.”

“No. I want to know why,” he answered and was starting to sound agitated. “I want to know why, every time I want to do something for you, you fight me on it. I want to know why you feel like, after all this time, you have to lie to me over something so stupid.”

“It’s not ‘stupid’ to me, okay? Look, if you absolutely _have_ to know, here goes: I went out with a guy whom I _thought_ liked watching that stuff. He’d suggest it and we’d get under a blanket and cuddle and all of that happy shite, but it was all a lie. Because one day, I heard him talking to his mate at the pub and telling him all about this sure-fire way to get sex whenever he wanted it: just throw in a chick flick and “suffer” through some snuggling and then I’d be _so_ grateful. And hey, apparently, there was an added bonus: if it was a tear-jerker, I’d “almost always” blow him after. Never mind that he could have just _asked_ me and I’d have been more than happy to accommodate him, he had to manipulate me. So from then on, after I kicked him to the fucking curb, I started watching what I wanted to watch when I wanted to watch it _by myself_. Okay? Are you happy now?”

She left him there gaping at her and ran into the kitchen. She was so angry she was shaking and uncomfortably close to tears. She got the ice cream out and hopped up on the counter and started attacking it with a spoon. No matter how old she got, she was sure that eating ice cream straight from the container would always feel like satisfying, chocolate-y rebellion.

“Maggie, I-“

“Don’t,” she said as she held up a hand. “It’s okay, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have flipped out like that. Hormones,” she added and rolled her eyes. “And… well, I don’t usually tell people personal stuff like that.”

“I’m sorry I pushed.”

“Don’t be. To be honest, I don’t know why, if you knew from the beginning that I was lying, you didn’t demand an explanation sooner. I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid. Grab a spoon if you want some.” She held up the ice cream.

“It’s not stupid,” he said as he got a spoon from the drawer and leaned against the counter next to her.

“No, it is,” she replied as she handed him the container. “Well, the reason behind it isn’t maybe so stupid, but lying about it is and I’m sorry for that. I don’t need you to understand, because frankly, I don’t think _I_ really understand why I do what I do sometimes, but I need you to respect it.”

He handed the ice cream back to her. “I can do that. I don’t need to understand to respect someone’s wishes, but I really wish you knew by now that you can tell me anything. Your secrets are safe with me, Maggie.”

_God, the things he says in that voice._ “Thank you. Do you want more?” She offered the container, but he shook his head so she hopped down and put it back in the freezer. “You’re still welcome to stay and watch a movie if you want, but…do you think you could pick out of the blue folder?” She bit her lip waiting for an answer.

“I already put _Star Trek_ in your laptop and hooked it up to the telly,” he said.

Without thinking, Maggie launched herself at him and hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she said as his arms came around her. _Oh god, he was all hard chest under a soft t-shirt. And he felt so comfortable and safe._

He chuckled as he rested his head on top of hers. “Hormones again? Or is this more sexual harassment?”

Suddenly, she was embarrassed and pulled away. “Hormones, definitely. Sorry. So… _Star Trek?_ ”

She turned and led the way back out to the sitting room and plopped herself on her end of the couch. Richard followed and started the movie, then took up his spot on the other end and they watched in easygoing silence. For the first time all day, Maggie finally started to feel better and was able to lean back and relax…

…and the next sound she heard was the phone alarm. She was still on the couch – she must have fallen asleep during the movie – with a blanket over her and it was time to get up and go to work. She didn’t want to. She had been dreaming, and while she couldn’t remember _what_ she had been dreaming, she knew it had been a good one. She had felt happy and relaxed and safe, and she wanted nothing more than to just go back to sleep. She briefly considered calling in sick, but the snooze alarm went off and she decided against it. It was Saturday and she consoled herself with the idea that she could come home and sleep through Sunday if she wanted to. She stumbled out to the kitchen to make coffee and found that Richard had done the dishes before leaving. He’d also left her another half of a muscle relaxer with a note: “ _Take it if you need it. Please? Don’t be stubborn. R_.”

The man took care of her, listened to her rant, didn’t judge her for lying, and did the dishes. Why the hell was he single?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of those who enjoyed meeting Maggie's brother, Rory, in the last chapter, I've written a wee drabble about him. It's called: [Phone Home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3942385).
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading. :-)


	16. Inescapable conclusions

Maggie dragged her way through her morning cuppa, and she dragged her way through the shower. She dragged her way through getting dressed and she dragged her way to the studio. She didn’t want to go to work. She wanted to stay in her big comfy sweatshirt and she wanted to burrow under the blanket and snuggle with a big, warm man with strong arms and a willingness to watch movies and eat takea-

She slammed on the brakes as she almost ran a red light. _Where the flying fuck did all of that come from? No, I don’t. I don’t want that. I’m tired and I’m hormonal and I’m a little lonely and I’m not feeling 100% and he was being very sweet and kind and it had felt so good to let someone take care of me for once and…_ No. Just because he was willing to pamper her for one night didn’t mean he was of a mind to repeat the performance, or to do more than he already had. She refused to allow herself to want things she wasn’t going to get. That was a waste of time and energy that she’d given up long ago.

Still, if she were being honest, she’d have to admit it was kind of a shame. She liked him, obviously, because what was there NOT to like? Okay, the stoicism could get on her nerves, but she figured that was one part of the very English propensity for soldiering on, and one part Thorin Oakensuffer. But when he was sat on her couch – happy, relaxed, and fed – she found it far too easy to imagine what it might be like, just for even one night, to snuggle up to him and see where it led. She wondered how it would feel if he whipped out that smolder or used his voice to turn her on, not just to make her blush or amuse himself. But mostly she wondered what it would be like not to sit at opposite ends of the couch for once – what it would be like to lay her head on his shoulder, to touch his face with no makeup involved, to feel hi-…

_NO, DAMMIT! Stop that! It’s not going to happen, and God forbid it ever does because it would be a complete disaster. He’s a friend – a GOOD friend. Don’t be in such a damn hurry to fuck that up. Because that’s exactly what you would do._

_Maybe this job has gone on too long._

Maggie had become friends and hung out with actors before, of course, but never as often or for as long. But this production was months and months longer than any other she had ever worked on, so there was far more time to spend together. She knew from experience, though, that a movie set only gave an _illusion_ of intimacy. When productions ended, promises were always made to stay in touch, but rarely, if ever, honored. Nothing about this business spoke of permanence, and that’s just the way it was. Within a few months, shooting would end and they’d go their separate ways. No sense in wondering what it would be like to have more – far better just to be thankful that she’d had someone she liked and could spend time with who had been kind enough when she felt poorly to take care of her for a night.

_I’ll miss him when this is over._

But then, she’d miss Mrs. Wallace and her son Robert and his horses, too. And she’d miss Natalie, as well as many other cast and crew members and the older couple who ran the market where she shopped. Moving on was a way of life, though, and Maggie had done it before. It might be a bit harder this time around, but she’d do it again. Until filming wrapped, she had a job to do.

As usual, she was the first one in the prosthetics truck. She liked the few moments she had alone in the morning to get set up, and she also liked that it was a day she would spend in the workshop and not on set. It was amazing how much energy it took to stand around doing nothing most of the day. It’s not like she wouldn’t be busy in the workshop, but it was a less taxing kind of busy.

She was ready and waiting when Richard arrived and she greeted him with a smile.

“Morning. Music?”

“Hey,” he answered as he sat. “No, thanks, not this morning. You’re feeling better?”

“Much. Um, before we start, I just wanted to say…thank you for last night. It was…well, really quite nice having someone pamper me a bit.” She gave him a small, shy smile and she knew she was likely blushing, but this was unfamiliar territory for her. “And I’m sorry for falling asleep, but bless you for cleaning up, too.”

“I’d have done the dishes anyway, even had you been awake. Please,” he said when she scowled at him. “I’d have won that argument easily. You were pharmaceutically impaired. I could have taken you.”

In spite of the talking to she’d given herself not twenty minutes before, she couldn’t stop herself from seeing innuendo. “You go on thinking that,” she said with a wink.

Richard closed his eyes as she worked. He looked tired and a little on the pale side and she wondered if he was feeling all right. Halfway through the process, she realized he had fallen asleep because the lines around his eyes and mouth had softened and his breathing evened out. It didn’t happen often, but each time it did, she felt guilty when she was finished and had to wake him.

She squeezed his shoulder gently. “Richard,” she said softly. “You’re done here.”

He rose with a curt nod and went off to wardrobe, and she helped where necessary before grabbing some breakfast in the canteen. She spent the morning making prosthetics and the afternoon painting them, and then headed back to the prosthetics truck for makeup removal.

“Long day?” she asked Richard as he sat in her chair and she began peeling off his nose. “You look tired.” He nodded. “I was thinking about making pasta sauce again tomorrow. Not as much as last time, obviously,” she said with a laugh. “Are you interested?”

His answer surprised her. “Um, it sounds great, but…I think…maybe I’m coming down with something and I could do with a bit of a lie-in. I think I’ll just stick close to home tomorrow.”

“Oh no, you poor lamb,” she said and laid a hand on his forehead. _At least he doesn’t feel feverish_. “How about I make you some soup? I could bring it over and you wouldn’t even have to get out of your pajamas.”

“No. Thank you for the offer, but if I’m contagious, it wouldn’t do for you to be around me. I’ll be fine. I’ll open a tin.”

She was torn between wanting to insist the way he had for her, but unsure whether she should. “You’ll call me if you change your mind?” He nodded. “You promise?” He nodded again. She wasn’t happy about it, but she relented and just hoped that he’d be smart enough to call if he needed her. “Feel better, Oakengerm,” she said when she turned him loose.

When everyone had been de-Dwarfed and de-Elfed, Maggie went home. She had been looking forward to leftover Chinese and her giant sweatshirt all day. She ate and watched some telly, and then went to bed – not the couch – early. She woke on Sunday well rested and feeling better, but with absolutely no motivation to do anything.

Making pasta sauce for herself seemed silly, it was cold and rainy and not good riding or running weather, and she didn’t think her body was up to sparring. She decided she was allowed a lazy day here and there, and the only really important thing she had to do on a Sunday was Skype with Lizzie. As long as she did that, she gave herself permission to stay in her comfy clothes and watch movies all day. She’d make due with leftovers and then maybe head out for something for dinner. Or maybe she’d just have ice cream.

She spoke with Lizzie and laughed at her stories and told some of her own and they read two books together, but then Hamish wanted to talk. He told Maggie about the new project the Army was doing fight scenes for, and urged her to check her email for the details.

The project was a new series about Vikings that would begin filming in July. Because they were already in pre-production and she couldn’t be there, she wouldn’t be able to work on principal cast, but they wanted her to work crowd scenes; and they were willing to look at some of her character designs if she cared to send some along. To that end, the production company had sent head shots of the cast.

Since she had just been thinking about the end of _The Hobbit_ , Maggie felt this was a godsend. Keeping busy was always her preferred state and being able to start a new production so soon after this one ended seemed like a good idea. She grabbed a sketch book and started drawing some ideas. Next thing she knew, it was mid-afternoon and her hands were cramping.

It had been a long time since she had an outlet for her creativity and it had felt good. It really didn’t matter if any of her designs were used – it had been a joy to have a reason to put her imagination to use. She decided to reward herself with ice cream for lunch…before realizing she was out. Damn.

Had Richard been coming for dinner, she’d have gone to the market that morning, but since he wasn’t and she wasn’t going to bother cooking…

_I can survive a day or two without ice cream, can’t I?_

_No. No, I can’t._

She didn’t even have it in her to change. Who cared if someone saw her out and about in her comically large sweatshirt? The only problem was, the market was out of dark chocolate ice cream and that would not do. Fortunately, there was another nearby that carried the specialty brand.

_What am I going to do when I can’t get this anymore? I may miss the ice cream more than anything else._

She headed home with four pints of the treasured dessert and then parked herself on the couch with a large bowlful and _The Matchmaker_. She was almost at the end of the movie when there was a knock on her door. She paused the DVD and went out to find… _Richard?_ on her porch.

“Hey,” he said when she opened the door. “This is terribly rude of me to show up like this, but I was wondering if maybe you had some of that pasta sauce to spare?”

“Oh. I, um, I didn’t make any. You said you wouldn’t be over so I didn’t bother for just me. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’m the one showing up unannounced begging food. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He sounded like a sad little boy, and she was trying to pretend she wasn’t thrilled to see him.

“What? No, don’t be silly. You’re here now, why don’t you come in? I’ve got some of that lamb stew from the other week in the freezer.” She stood aside so he could walk in, but he hesitated.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Would you please get in here, Oakenbeggar? Go on through,” she said when he’d walked in and closed the door behind him. “I’ll just put the stew on to thaw and I’ll be in.”

“Thanks, May-reed,” he said as he passed her.

Maggie got the stew out of the freezer and put it into the microwave to thaw. She really was happy Richard was there. She hadn’t actually realized how empty her Sunday seemed until she saw him through the door, but once she had… Well, best not to think too hard about that. She went through to the sitting room and turned off the DVD before moving to straighten up the coffee table. She knew Richard would need somewhere to put his feet.

“You could have finished watching it,” he said.

She waved him off. “I’ve seen it enough, it’s no big deal.”

“A movie with Van Morrison music is always a big deal, May-reed.”

Her head swiveled toward him in surprise. “You’ve seen _The Matchmaker?_ ”

Richard laughed. “Men watch movies like that, too, you know.”

“Not all of them,” she said a bit stiffly as she gathered her drawings together.

“Is he why you won’t cry in front of anyone,” he asked quietly.

She felt herself freeze, but forced herself to relax. It was a fair enough question, she supposed, and she nodded without looking at him. “It’s silly, I know. But once you’ve been hurt…well, I’m not in a hurry to give anyone the same ammunition to do it again. So you’re feeling better?” She didn’t figure she’d fool him with the subject change, but hoped he’d be kind enough to play along. He was.

“I am, yes. Turns out all I needed was a decent night’s sleep and a long lie-in.”

“Good,” she smiled. “You were looking a little pale yesterday. I’m glad you were just tired.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You thought I looked pale?”

_It surprises him that I’d notice?_ “Hello,” she laughed. “I’m the one primarily responsible for making you look the same day in and day out. I notice when the makeup has to change.” She heard the microwave beep and stood up. “The stew should be thawed. I’ll just put it on to heat and I’ll be back with wine.”

Once out in the kitchen, she put the stew in a covered dish and slid it into the oven she’d turned on to heat. Before getting the wine glasses, she took a few seconds just to regain her equilibrium. She really hated sharing personal stuff – even, or maybe especially, with Richard. She poured wine for both of them and took the glasses back through to the sitting room.

“Here you go,” she said as she handed Richard his glass. “It shouldn’t take too long to heat, but if you’re hungry, I can find us something to nibble on.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wondered if she should have phrased it differently. He didn’t seem to notice anything untoward, though.

“No, thanks, I can wait. What are these,” he asked, indicating the sketches. “Not something personal, I hope,” he added with a cringe.

“No, don’t worry,” she laughed. “That’s just decoy stuff so you don’t notice the porn stash hidden under the cushion you’re sitting on.” His always-expressive eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline and she couldn’t help laughing. “I’m kidding! Why would I bother hiding porn? Last time I checked, I was of the age of consent. No, this is for my next project when _The Hobbit_ wraps.”

_I wouldn’t bother hiding porn? I hid the chick flicks for fuck’s sake._

“What’s the project?”

“It’s a show about Vikings and we’re supplying fighters for it. I’d have had a shot at a makeup position for principal cast, but they’re in pre-production now and I’m missing all of it, so I’ll have to settle for working on the backgrounds and extras, but they rather generously agreed to look at some of my character ideas, so you never know – I might make an impression.”

“If they’re in pre-production now, when does production start?”

“Pretty much the minute we’ll wrap here. I might have to pull the prosthetics off you on the last day and get on a plane for Ireland immediately after.”

“You’d leave that soon?” He seemed…irritated?

“I go where the work is,” she answered with a shrug.

“These are…well, they’re good,” he offered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thanks,” she said, chuffed that he’d think so.

“So you’d go right from here to Ireland? You’d really do that? You won’t go home? What about Lizzie? Won’t it disappoint her?” _I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition._

“Ireland isn’t New Zealand,” she said with an arched eyebrow. “I’ll be able to go home at the weekends, and half the family will be there with me – including Hamish - and since Lizzie will be on her holidays, she’ll be able to come over, too. Hell, they might need an adorable village child. I’m going to check on the stew.”

He had been looking at her as if she’d suddenly grown a horn in the middle of her forehead. What was the big deal? Why did he seem pissed that she’d lined up her next job? She was sure he’d have something else on the go soon enough. Why shouldn’t she?

_Why would he care one way or the other?_ There was absolutely no reason he would, and she was sure she was just being silly and had imagined his reaction. She ladled the stew into crocks and cut pieces of crusty bread for each of them and carried everything through.

“I have some bad news,” she said as she handed him his bowl and sat.

“What is it?” He said it warily, and she almost laughed at how seriously he obviously took her statement.

“The market was out of the dark chocolate ice cream when I went this morning.”

“No ice cream?” He looked crestfallen and her mouth twitched.

“Oh, did I fail to mention there was good news? I went to another market and found some. I know, I know. I’m the best. You don’t have to tell me,” she said with a giggle.

“The hell you are.” The giggling stopped abruptly. “You’re evil – scaring me like that, not the best at all.”

“I could send you home without any, you know,” she said before sticking her tongue out at him.

“You could, but you wouldn’t. You like me too much.” He grinned and looked up at her through his lashes and she forgot to breathe.

“Egotistical actor,” she said not quite under her breath and buried her nose in her bowl to cover her agitation. It was so bloody easy for him to fluster her. He laughed and after a beat, she joined in.

Later, as they watched _Wolverine_ , it hit her just how few Sundays they had left. She didn’t want to think about that. As excited as she was about working in Ireland so close to home, she realized how sad it would be not to have the banter, the discussion, the arguments, the food, and the company. Without meaning to, she’d gotten awfully used to Richard’s presence and knew she’d miss it when it was gone. It would be hard on her when they went their separate ways and he forgot about her, but she knew there was nothing she could do to change it and the best thing was just to enjoy what she had while she had it. And she was damn thankful that she had it.


	17. The beginning of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with the Real World timeline here. I know from the DVD extras that Thorin's death was filmed during pickups in the summer of 2013, but for the purposes of this story, it was done during principal photography.

Maggie knew the smart thing would have been to distance herself from Richard. Doing so would help make the end easier for her, even if it would make the rest of filming more difficult. The long-term benefit would far outweigh any short-term inconvenience.

Maggie didn’t always feel like doing the smart thing.

The bottom line was that she was likely going to feel pretty miserable when shooting ended whether she limited her time with Richard or not, so why generate more misery? She still needed to eat on Sunday nights, and cooking for one was a pain, so it only made sense to keep up with the tradition.

_Yeah, and if I keep telling myself that, I may actually start to believe it. Won’t make it true, though._

One minute, Maggie chastised herself for crossing a long-established line with Richard, fearing that she’d gotten a bit too friendly with him. The next minute, she reminded herself that this production was unlike any other and, therefore, carried its own rules.

She knew she could argue with herself until the end of time and probably still come to no conclusions, and quite frankly, none were necessary. Their friendship had a shelf-life, and it was one that was growing shorter every day. The best thing (barring that whole distancing herself thing, of course) was not to think about it whenever possible.

Filming made that easier. They were working at a pace that made it nearly impossible to spare any thought for anything external to the production. Days were growing longer as their number dwindled, and suddenly it was time for The Battle of the Five Armies.

Maggie loved battle scenes. In addition to the everyday work, there were scars and wounds, not just first thing in the morning during prep, but throughout the day – sometimes on the fly. Until CGI put her out of business completely, battle scenes were the best part of her job. Well, it was more accurate to say that battle scenes were the _second_ best part of her job. The _actual_ best part of her job was making a very alive actor look like he was on death’s door.

This time, of course, it would be bittersweet.

On the one hand, Maggie would be able to flex a few of her creative muscles, but on the other, she wasn’t really looking forward to Thorin’s death. She’d spent so very many hours watching Richard work, and there was no doubt in her mind that his portrayal of the would-be king’s demise would be heart-wrenching.

She had no idea exactly _how_ heart-wrenching it would be.

Maggie was positively giddy the morning they were to begin filming Thorin’s end. She got to work early and was happily humming to herself as she set up for the day. It didn’t occur to her that Richard might not share her excitement.

“Wow. You’re really thrilled to be shot of me, aren’t you?”

“What? No,” she laughed at him. “Why would I be wanting to be shot of you? Don’t be silly!”

“I’ll stop being silly, if you stop being so bloody gleeful,” he replied, sullenly.

She laughed again. “Sorry, but I get to make you look mortally wounded and that’s one of my favorite parts of this job.”

“Well then, could you at least _pretend_ you’re a _little_ sad? Have some bloody compassion, woman.”

His bitterness brought her up short and she stopped in mid-hum as she stared at him in disbelief. In her excitement, she had forgotten how difficult Thorin’s death might be for Richard and she regretted seeming callous. Still, she had a job to do – a job in which she took just as much pride as he did in his, and in which she deserved her moments of happiness, too. That didn’t mean she didn’t feel for him, and she leaned down so her face was only a few inches from his.

“You listen to me, Oakencorpse,” she said quietly. “I promise you that I will have an appropriate emotional response when this film comes out…in what - seven, eight years?” She winked. “But for now, after two-hundred-odd days of making you look exactly the same almost every damn day, you will allow me to be a little _bloody gleeful_ while I enjoy my job.”

She smiled encouragingly and squeezed his shoulder and settled in to work, making a conscious effort to keep her giddiness from showing too much, and she was relieved when she realized he had closed his eyes at some point during the process. Soon enough, Maggie finished and sent Richard off to wardrobe and she spent the rest of the prep period helping others where she could.

And then shooting started for the day.

Maggie stood with the rest of the makeup crew and watched take after take after take on the monitors – Peter was known for the number of times he’d ask for “just one more”. Each one was slightly different, with a change in look here or a refined inflection there. Each one was excruciatingly sad. It was a privilege to watch Richard (and Martin and Graham and the rest, too, of course) work at all times, but he raised himself to an entirely different level as a dying Thorin. It was art in the truest sense of the word, yet each take ripped Maggie’s heart further from her chest.

Still, she may have been able to hold herself together had it not been for the resets. Richard frequently found it easiest to stay in character when possible and not take himself out of the mood of the scene, and Maggie knew during those times just to do her job and leave him to his. There was still a part of Richard, no matter how small, that remained during those times; but when she’d touch up his face during the death scenes, Maggie saw nothing of the actor behind the character. Richard simply wasn’t there anymore and gave no sign that he was affected by or even noticed anything outside of the Middle-Earth of his imagination. He no longer seemed to be acting – he _was_ Thorin, and it shattered the heart that he’d spent the morning pulling from her chest.

And then came the last break, when she leaned over him, and gently touched up his face like she’d done a thousand times before, and he seemed so lost and spent and despondent that… _oh god, look at him._ She couldn’t help herself – she felt her eyes well and her lip quiver.

That, of course, was the moment that Richard finally noticed something of the real world.

“Maggie,” he whispered, and as she made eye contact with him, she couldn’t keep the tears from spilling over. She didn’t even try to hide them, because that would have been futile. She merely looked at him sadly, crying silently and unable to speak, then squeezed his shoulder like she’d done earlier that morning and walked away. If she could have kept going and walked off set, she would have.

One more take, and Thorin was gone. Maggie wasn’t the only one crying.

Richard was done for the day so he was dismissed. Maggie wondered if he’d be all right and wished she had the luxury of checking on him, but there were still scenes to shoot and she had to stay on set. _Like he needs the makeup girl fussing over him more than I already do. He’s a big boy – he’ll be fine._

A while later, a frantic Tami came up to Maggie during a reset.

“You need to go back to the trailer,” Tami said as she took the brush Maggie was using on Graham’s face. “I’ll take over for you.”

“What? Why?”

Tami’s face was pinched and she looked… _unnerved? Tami?_ “You need to remove Richard’s prosthetics. Give me your gear.”

A bewildered Maggie handed her stuff over. “Me? But I’m supposed to spend the rest of the day here on set.”

“Richard’s…” Tami trailed off as she tried to find the right word to describe him. “He wants _you_ to do it,” she finished, then lowered her voice. “He’s upset – _very_ upset.” Tami looked seriously freaked out.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just go.”

Maggie ran across the studio grounds wondering what in the world Richard could have said or done to make the usually even-keeled Tami so unsettled. She charged into the makeup trailer, out of breath.

“Richard? What the hell? You scared Tami.”

“I didn’t want _her_ to take off my face,” he thundered. “I wanted _you_ to do it.”

She stared at him for a second in disbelief before merely nodding. _Best just to humor him, I think_. “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll get this off of you,” she said quietly as she turned her chair toward him. “Come on, Richard. Sit ye down,” she added when he didn’t move immediately.

He was acting so strangely and she found it unnerving. He dropped into her chair and she turned it so that it was where she wanted it. As she reached for his face, he reached for her hand.

“Maggie, I-“ He stopped as his voice started to break. _Oh god, the pain in his eyes. He’s grieving_. And suddenly, it all fell into place and she squeezed his hand.

“I know, Richard. But listen to me – this isn’t really the last time. I know they gave you the next couple of days off because you’re not needed for filming, but soon enough you’ll be back in this chair and I’ll be annoying you,” she said with a small smile. “This isn’t the end yet.” He took a long ragged breath and nodded, and she squeezed his hand again. “Now just close your eyes and let me get this off of you.”

To Maggie’s surprise, he did as he was told. Every line of Richard’s body was tense, with the barely concealed energy of a cheetah about to pounce. She knew that he was finding it difficult to sit, so she worked as quickly and as quietly as she could.

“Hey you,” she said when she was finished. He opened his eyes as she squeezed his shoulder again. “Why don’t you go have a drink or seven? But take a cab, yeah?”

“And don’t show up at your door in the middle of the night?”

“Well,” she said with a grin, “one of us has to work in the morning, but I think you know by now I wouldn’t leave you standing in the cold.”

“Thanks, May-reed,” he said as he laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed. She knew he did his best to smile, but he failed miserably.

“Of course. But look, they were about to wrap for the day. Why don’t you get out of here before this trailer fills up?”

He thanked her again and left. Maggie high-tailed it back to set to relieve Tami, but they had already finished, so she found herself right back in the trailer removing prosthetics. After the last ear landed in the bin, Maggie went home. She was tired, she was sad, and she was worried about Richard.

She changed into yoga pants and a tank top and gave some thought to eating. She promptly decided that she wasn’t up to cooking. She really should have gotten something at the canteen, but she’d just wanted to come home. Ice cream for dinner again.

She took the container into the sitting room and plopped onto the couch. She wondered where Richard was and what he was doing and if he was okay. _Of course he’s okay. He’s a professional actor who does this for a living. He may be sad, but it’s all part of the job. He doesn’t need the likes of you fretting over him._

She finished her ice cream and sat contemplating the packing boxes that took up a significant amount of floor space in her tiny flat. She had begun the process of packing up non-essentials to be shipped home, and in that moment they were depressing the hell out of her. She missed home dearly, but the thought of leaving hi- of leaving New Zealand behind made her unbearably sad. And that made her feel guilty. _This is just a job. Isn’t it?_

Her musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. Maggie went out to open it and found Richard drawing breath to speak but unable to do so, and she was overwhelmed by the need to hold him. She never even questioned the advisability of doing so, she simply took a step back and held her arms out for him. Without hesitation he stepped into them.

_The hell with propriety._

She’d never flatter herself that he needed her – he simply needed someone. But in that moment, she was the someone who was there and if he needed to be held, then dammit, she’d hold the hell out of him.

“Oh Maggie, I’m sorry. I know you have to get up tomorrow morning and I shouldn’t be h-“

“Shhhh,” she said as she gently stroked his hair and continued to hold him tight. “It’s okay, Richard. I loved him, too.”

“It’s so stupid. I knew this day would come and I-“

She pulled back enough so she could look him in the eye. “It is NOT stupid. Not even a little, okay, so stop that.”

“I should go,” he said, but made no effort to let her go.

“Do you _want_ to go?”

_I should want him to say yes. I should want him to be okay and not need someone, shouldn’t I? But I don’t want him to say yes._

“No.”

She gave him a small smile. “Then come through,” she said and took him by the hand.

He allowed her to lead him into the sitting room, where she gently pushed him down onto his spot on the couch. He buried his face in his hands and she sat down next to him and slid her arm around his back and laid her head on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said softly, “but you can if you want to.”

“I just…” he said on a long sigh. “I didn’t think it would hurt like this.”

She didn’t say anything, because she knew there was nothing to be said. She just continued to sit next to him lightly rubbing his back. How long they sat there, she had no idea. She’d have been happy to sit like that all night if that’s what he needed, but his stomach rumbled and broke the silence and she realized it was likely that he hadn’t eaten.

“You need to eat.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t want to.” If she lived to be a million years old, she’d never know how he could sound like such a little boy.

“Richard, you’re obviously hungry. The Thai place is still open. Let me run out and get you something,” she said and made to stand up.

He grabbed her arm. “No. Please don’t leave. _Please_ , Maggie.” He sounded like he was begging and he clung to her like he was drowning.

She didn’t want to give in – not eating wasn’t going to help him any – and then she had an idea. “Okay, let me just go to the kitchen then. I think I have something for you.”

“No, Maggie, you really don’t have to. I’m not h-“

“I’ll just be a minute,” she called back to him.

He needed comfort food. She wished she had something frozen she could thaw, but she didn’t and she knew he wouldn’t sit around waiting for her to cook something. But hell, if ice cream for dinner worked for her, maybe it would work for him. She got a new container out of the freezer, grabbed a bottle of wine and a spoon, and went back through.

“Et voilà. Dinner is served,” she said as she laid it out for him on the coffee table.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. What’s the point of being a grown-up if there aren’t any perks? Bad day at the office? Wine and ice cream for dinner,” she said with an encouraging grin.

He was clearly unconvinced. “I’m not sure…”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll get you started.” She raised the wine bottle to her lips and took a long pull then handed it to him and he did the same. “Ice cream straight out of the carton always tastes better. So does wine out of the bottle.”

“Enabler,” he said with a short, gruff laugh, but he picked up the spoon and ice cream and tucked in.

Over half the container and wine bottle later, he seemed to be a bit brighter. Richard offered to share the ice cream, but she declined. “I had the end of another pint for dinner myself earlier.” She shook her head when he offered her the bottle. “I do get to sleep in a whole half hour later than usual, but I still work in the morning.”

He ate and drank a bit more, before deciding he was done. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “I’m pretty sure I told you once there’d be ice cream in my freezer for whenever you wanted it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the ice cream, Maggs.”

She smiled again. “I know and you’re welcome. More?” He shook his head. “I’ll just go pop this back in the freezer then,” she said as she picked up the remnants of his impromptu dinner and did a very quick cleanup before going back out to the sitting room.

“What are the boxes for?”

“Oh, those? I’ve started packing some things up to ship home. It’s just non-essential stuff – summer clothes and the like. But everything I pack up now won’t have to be done later.”

His eyes flashed. _He looks…angry? What the hell for?_

“You have an early morning, I’ll let you be,” he said abruptly and stood up…obviously a bit too fast.

“Whoa there,” she said as she stood and steadied him. “You just drank almost three-quarters of a bottle of wine. I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

“I’ll get a cab,” he countered stiffly.

“Don’t be silly. You slept here before, you can do it again.”

“No, Maggie. Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I’ll call a cab and I’ll wait outside.” _And he thinks I’M stubborn?_

“The hell you will.”

“Do you think you can stop me?” he asked as he loomed over her. _As if he intimidates me._

She grinned evilly up at him. “Yes, Richard, I do,” she said softly…and promptly pushed him back down on the couch.

“That’s not fair – I wasn’t ready.”

“I didn’t even have to tap you twice, you giant doofus. Readiness had nothing to do with it. Now, give me your hand and I’ll help you up again.” She pulled him to his feet. “Now, come on.”

“Maggie, really, please…”

“Oh, you’re really adorable when you think I’m negotiating,” she said, in exact imitation of the way he’d once said the same thing to her while she pulled him into the bedroom. She pointed to the bed after she grabbed one of her pillows. “Go on. In you get.” They’d sat longer than she’d realized and with such an early morning looming for her, she needed to get him sorted so that she could get some sleep.

“Maggs, I..." he began, clearly intending to protest further, but she could see his resolve crumble. “Will you sit with me again?” _Oh god, he looks so lost and sad. How can I tell him no?_

She let out the barest of sighs. “All right, but I have one request this time: I don’t know where those jeans of yours have been but I won’t feel like changing the sheets tomorrow after work, so take them off, please.”

“I…um…”

“Oh for the love of…are you wearing pants under there?”

“Um, y-yes.” He blushed fiercely. _Really? The man who played Lucas North and Paul Andrews? Blushing about dropping trou?_

“Then I would see less than if I watched _Spooks_ , wouldn’t I? But I will spare your dignity and turn around until you’re in bed.” She did so and waited until he slid under the covers. “Okay, roll over,” she said and laid down next to him when he complied.

She slid her arm over him and spooned him. She wasn’t really big enough to do it properly, but she tried to fit herself against him as best she could and wished she weren’t so bloody small. He tensed, just perceptibly, at first; but then she felt him let himself relax as he reached for the hand she had over him and laced his fingers with hers.

Maggie had intended to stay until he fell asleep and then move to the couch. She figured there wasn’t much danger of her falling asleep because she wasn’t used to having someone with her in bed taking up space and the covers.

She woke five minutes before her alarm was to go off. _Well, that’s…unexpected. I must have been more tired than I thought._

She carefully extricated herself – at some point during the night they had both rolled and Richard was the one doing the spooning (and Maggie rather steadfastly refused to acknowledge how good _that_ felt) – without waking him, and got ready to go to the studio. While waiting for her coffee to brew, she wrote a note that she left for him on the counter: _Help yourself to anything you find. You’re free to stay as long as you like, but it’s supposed to be a gorgeous day and I think if you get out and enjoy it, you’ll feel better. Just please lock up when you go. Hell, go skiing – I won’t tell. But PLEASE be careful and remember: I can cover bruises, but cuts, scrapes, and scars are harder to disguise. :-)_

Throughout her day, Maggie thought about Richard and hoped he was all right. She also briefly wondered about the strange reaction he seemed to have about packing things to send home, but she dismissed it as misinterpretation almost as quickly. When she got home that night, she found a note he’d left her on her refrigerator: _No skiing today, but maybe tomorrow. Yes, I’ll be careful. Borrowed an extra key from Mrs. Wallace (who seemed to think I already had one?) so that I could run to the Italian place to get you some lasagna. It’s in the fridge waiting to be heated. Least I could do so don’t roll those eyes. I don’t know how I’d have made it through last night without you. Thank you. And if you try to tell me you were just doing your job I swear I will sabotage your freezer so that you won’t be able to store ice cream anymore. R._

Maggie heated and ate the lasagna, and then turned in for the night where she tried not to think about how her bed smelled like Richard or the fact that she could find no way to classify spooning a grief-stricken movie star friend as just part of her job.


	18. Never can say goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: both my beta and I got teary when we proofed this. Say it with me: they get married, they get married, they get married, they get married, they get married, they get married...

Maggie couldn’t believe the change in Richard when he returned to work three days later. She also couldn’t believe how strange those last three days had been without him, or how much more normal everything was when he sat in her chair. She told herself that she just preferred routine, and part of her almost believed it.

“Thanks for the lasagna,” she said as she prepped him for the prosthetics. She had texted him to say thank you that night, but wanted to say it in person as well. “That was a nice surprise to come home to. So nice, I won’t even say you didn’t have to,” she added with a grin.

Richard rolled his eyes. “That’s very forbearing of you, and you’re welcome. So welcome I won’t even mention how much I appreciate you taking me in like you did.” He winked. “But um…why does Mrs. Wallace think I have a key to your place?”

Maggie blushed violently under the scrutiny of the Arched Eyebrow. “Oh, um…she, uh…well, I think that she…thinks that…you and I are…well, in a situation where it would be practicalforyoutohaveakey. So, music this morning?”

The bastard was grinning at her, the loon. “How long have I supposedly had this key?”

Maggie shrugged and mumbled, “fewmonths.”

Richard laughed. “I wish I had known we were so close. You should have told me.”

Maggie’s face, if possible, felt even hotter. “Well, you know, I didn’t know how your actor ego would react to a Kiwi pensioner insulting your taste in women like that. Now, do you want music this morning or not?” _Please, please, please, let this go. I can’t talk about something like this with you. You weren’t ever supposed to know about it in the first place._ She stood with her hip cocked and her arms folded across her chest, though whether in defensiveness or embarrassment she couldn’t have said. Probably both.

“No,” he said quietly. “No music this morning.”

There was no more chatter that day. Maggie worked quickly and silently and then she turned him loose. They had entered the home stretch – filming little bits and pieces of things – and the final few weeks were less frantic but somehow more chaotic. And then in the blink of an eye, principal photography was over.

Maggie always found it odd how a production could charge along at full speed and then come to such a complete and abrupt stop. She always thought it should wind down slowly, but it never did. It was just suddenly…over and this time she found herself on the soundstage for the Receiving of the Gifts. Peter was known for giving out some seriously good souvenirs to his cast and she knew Richard was hoping to get to take Orcrist home. He wasn’t disappointed and she laughed when he pulled it out of the box, laughed harder at his childlike glee when he saw Lego Thorin, and had to fight tears as he gave a heartfelt apology to cast and crew for his grumpiness.

All in all, it was a good, if bittersweet, last day.

It wasn’t _really_ to be the last day, of course, which is what kept the bitter part of the bittersweet to a minimum. Most of the cast were off to San Diego for a few days at Comic Con and would then return to Wellington for a couple weeks of pickup filming. Maggie spent the time packing all but the most essential items, arranging her flight to Ireland (since it was only one-way, she had absolutely no problem springing for first class), putting her car up for sale, going horseback riding in what little time was left, and trying very hard not to think about leaving. And then the cast was back and it was all hands on deck again.

That first morning in the prosthetics truck, Richard was as excited and animated as Maggie had ever seen him. In fact, for that hour of the morning, he was downright ebullient. Having never been to a Con, he’d left Wellington a touch anxious about not knowing what to expect, but the experience had clearly been a positive and enjoyable one. Or maybe it was just having a few days that didn’t overtax his body. Or maybe he’d gotten laid.

For reasons Maggie didn’t understand, that thought nearly turned her stomach and the airbrush almost slipped out of her hand. _Not that it’s anything to me what he gets himself up to. Or who he gets himself into._

During that last fortnight of filming, Richard started coming over for dinner during the week. They hadn’t discussed it, but it gave them more chances to have one last meal from each of their favorite takeaway places and to dispatch what little remained of leftovers in Maggie’s freezer.

And they ate a LOT of ice cream.

On their last Sunday in New Zealand, Richard asked Maggie to take him horseback riding with her. They rode the trails for hours mostly in comfortable silence, each bearing the cold of winter without complaint. That night, they went to the best Indian, Thai, and Chinese restaurants and got their favorite dishes from each for a final Sunday night blowout.

Maggie couldn’t taste a single thing.

The food was as delicious as it always was, she guessed, but the truth was that it was all she could do just to choke it down. Enjoying it was completely beyond her. _Why is this so hard? This is no different than any other production that’s ended. I’ve already gotten more out of this than I had any reasonable right to expect, and now it’s time to suck it up and move on. Moving on is what I do best, anyway._

“…feed me.” Richard was chuckling.

“Huh? What?”

“God, you’re miles away. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, of course,” she answered with a wholly fake smile. “I just wasn’t paying attention, I guess. I’m sorry. You were saying?”

“I said I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone like you to feed me.”

She laughed, mirthlessly. “Yeah well, that’s because I’m so one of a kind.”

“Yes, you are,” he said with a look so earnest Maggie would have sworn it stopped her heart. _Oh please, don’t do this. Not now. Don’t say nice things now. Please. PLEASE._

“You saved room for dessert, I hope,” she blurted in an effort to reroute the turn toward more seriousness than she could handle. She took their plates out to the kitchen and returned to the sitting room with two pints of their favorite ice cream and two spoons. “I had thought about getting a tiramisu from the Italian place, but let’s face it this is the only appropriate thing for us to eat.”

“We never did find any mousse for you, did we? I’ll have to owe you.”

 _Owe me? When? Five more days and we’ll probably never see each other again except maybe in passing._ “I’m good with what I have,” she replied with a tight smile.

Suddenly, she wanted Richard gone.

She wanted his giant feet off of her coffee table and his perfect round arse off of her couch. She didn’t want to look at his face any more than she absolutely had to for work, and she wished he’d shut up so she didn’t have to listen to him talk. She didn’t want any more ice cream because she couldn’t get what she had past the lump that had formed in her throat. And if she could have gotten away with leaving for Ireland early, she’d have done it and flown coach if it would have been necessary.

_What the fuck are we doing? This last Sunday hurrah is pointless and stupid. There’s nothing in this business that isn’t temporary and we both know it. We’ve had a laugh, we’ve kept each other company, and now it’s over and that’s just the nature of things. Pretending otherwise is nothing but a colossal waste of our time._

“…pictures.” _Oh crap, he’s talking again._

“What?”

“Where are you tonight, Maggs? I was saying we should take a couple of pictures.”

“Of what?”

“Of us, silly girl, sat here on the couch. You in your corner and me in mine. Do you think Mrs. Wallace would come up and take one for us?”

“Um…I don’t know…I mean, I guess so. But…can’t we just take it?”

Richard laughed. “I’m big, but I’m not _that_ big. If we want one of each of us in our respective corners, we’re not going to be able to do that in a selfie. My arm’s not that long.”

“Oh. No, I guess not,” she said with a short laugh. “There’s a timer on my camera.”

She rose to fetch it from her bedroom, mentally cursing the irony of wanting him gone while he wanted souvenirs. She sighed. It wasn’t really that she minded, it’s just that maudlin sentimentality never got her very far and it wasn’t going to in this instance, either. Clinging to one last moment of…whatever all of this was wasn’t going to change the outcome, but she supposed if he wanted a picture to commemorate…whatever all of this was, then he could have one.

Maggie took the camera out to the sitting room and set it up so that the whole couch was in the frame and set the timer. Richard sat in his accustomed spot in his accustomed way – facing forward with his shoeless feet on the coffee table, and Maggie sat in _her_ accustomed spot in _her_ accustomed way – sideways with her feet on the cushion between them. They took two pictures – one with them looking at the camera and one with them looking at each other.

“You’d best send those to me,” he said mock-menacingly and then pulled her by her ankles toward him and she yelped.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a selfie,” he answered as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “So get into the frame, woman.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You have enough pictures of me already, I’m thinking.”

“Would you _please_ just humor me for once?” He pulled her flush against him with his arm around her. “And you’d better smile or I’ll tickle you.”

She was already laughing, so it wasn’t much of a threat. “No, you won’t.”

He did, which made her laugh harder and he snapped the picture then turned his phone so they could see it. “Perfect,” he pronounced and she’d have had to agree that it was a good one. Maggie made to pull away and return to her end of the couch, but Richard tightened his arm around her and wouldn’t let her go. “Thank you, Maggie,” he said softly.

“For what?”

“Everything,” he answered with a short laugh. “All the food. The movies. The conversations. The _normality_. There’s no way to explain how much it’s meant to me or how deeply I’m grateful for it. I don’t know how I’d have managed to get through all of this without you, Maggs.”

“You’d have found a way,” she said quietly with a small shrug. “You’d have adapted.”

That lump was suddenly back in her throat. _Oh god. Please get out. Just leave and take your stupid blue eyes and sweet smile and that hand that’s playing with my hair with you_. She patted him on the knee and slid away from him, because if she didn’t do so in that moment she’d have…well, it didn’t matter what she’d have done. The point was that she moved away from him and that’s all that was important.

“I should get going,” Richard said as he looked at his watch. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Damn early makeup calls,” Maggie chuckled and stood. The last thing she wanted was to let on how relieved she was that the night was over. Richard stood and turned to look down at the couch. “Would you two like a moment alone?”

He snorted. “No. Best to make a clean break, I think.” They walked to the kitchen and Richard turned to her when he reached the door. “Thank you,” he said as he pulled her in for a hug.

“You said that already, Armitazh.” _God, does he have to hug so bloody damn well?_

“Yeah, well I’m saying it again. Because I mean it.”

“You’re welcome,” she said into his shoulder. It felt good, god help her, to stand there like that. It felt comfortable and safe and ri-… _No, don’t go there. Five days. That’s all that’s left_. “You do know we’re going to see each other in six hours, right?” She chuckled and he joined her.

“Oh, right. That. The makeup thing,” he said as he released her. “See you tomorrow, May-reed.”

She smiled and he opened the door and left. She waited until he had gotten down the stairs before she shut it.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such a sense of relief.

Maggie thought about the coming last five days with dread. She really wished she could be getting on a plane to leave right then and just give those last days a miss. She needed it to be over. She needed to move on and she didn’t want to have to wait to do it.

She thought about what it was going to be like to say goodbye, and she decided in that moment that she was going to do whatever she had to to avoid it.

Finally, blessedly, it was Friday. Her car was sold and she borrowed Mrs. Wallace’s to get to work. Everything was packed and ready to go, and the cab was ordered that would take her to the airport. One more day of work and it would all be over. It went by in a blur.

Day 270 progressed pretty much the same way the previous two hundred sixty-nine days did, until the last take was finished. Maggie stood off to the side while people said their goodbyes, counting the minutes until she could head back to the prosthetics truck one last time. That couldn’t come soon enough.

Despite Maggie’s best efforts at being as invisible as possible, Natalie spotted her and swooped in for a tearful hug.

“I can’t believe this is really all over and you’re leaving right away. I’m going to miss you so much!”

“I’ll miss you, too, Nat,” Maggie said as she returned the hug. “And hey, I meant what I said – if you need a reference I will write you the most glowing recommendation in the history of employment. You can call, text, or email me anytime you need.”

“I hope I can do that anyway. We’ll keep in touch, right?”

There it was. It was the same thing she and others had been saying since primary school. _We’ll keep in touch_. Maggie had no doubt that Natalie meant to, but she knew from experience that it was highly unlikely to happen. Still, why burst the girl’s bubble? “Of course we will,” she answered as she plastered a smile on her face. “We’ll keep in t-“

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Natalie,” Richard said as he seemed to materialize out of nowhere. “But I need to borrow Maggie for a moment,” he said as he took Maggie by the hand.

“Of course,” Natalie answered with a grin. “She’s all yours,” she added with a wink only Maggie could see.

Maggie opened her mouth to protest that wink, but Richard pulled her away before she could. “Um…where are we going?”

“Photo op,” he replied with a grin. “The irony is that you’ve hidden from the EPK crew just as much as I have and now we’re volunteering.”

“Wait…what?” She dug her heels in and refused to move. “I didn’t hide – they weren’t interested in a makeup girl. And we already did pictures at my place on Sunday.”

“Yes, but we need one with me in makeup. How can we not have one together with me in makeup?” He favored her with an evil grin. “Now, either you come with me willingly, or I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you. What say you?”

Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Oh, the Armitage Smirk. “I think you know full well that I very much _would_ dare.” He took a step toward her as she took a step back. “You’ll come willingly?”

“Richard, stop, no. I can’t. I’m nowhere near presentable enough for a picture.”

“You’re more than presentable enough, May-reed,” he said and grabbed her hand again and pulled her to a stop in front of a still photographer. “Now, get ready to smile.”

“Richard, no, seriously. Had I known, I’d have done something to my hair this morning,” she said as she tried to smooth it. “Or taken a shower. And this shirt. Look at this – there’s makeup and glue stains on it, and…when the hell did I eat tacos?”

Richard rolled his eyes and bodily spun her so that she was facing the photographer. He flipped the ends of Thorin’s coat over her and held her by her shoulders. “There. Problem solved. Now smile, please. Or we’ll keep doing it until you do.”

There was nothing for it, so Maggie gave in and smiled. At least Richard had the makeup and prosthetics on and looked like a grizzled, tired Dwarf and not his actual stunning self. Maggie took a bit of consolation in that fact. Maybe it wouldn’t actually be the worst picture ever.

When the photographer was satisfied, Richard turned her again and said, “one more” as he pulled her in for a hug. “Smile for this one, too, or I will tickle you until you pee,” he warned and Maggie laughed.

With the photo op over, Maggie made her way back to the prosthetics truck for the last time, though she tried hard not to think about that aspect of it. In fact, somewhere between the soundstage and the trailer, Maggie shut down as much of her brain as she could so as not to think about a lot of things. She plastered another smile on her face and set about doing her job. She answered when spoken to and smiled where required. She made all the right noises while insulating herself as much as possible from the pain. She knew she removed Richard’s makeup, but she honestly couldn’t have recounted any of the details afterward.

When all the work was done, the makeup department started an impromptu celebration. Once again, Maggie played the game and made all the right noises, and when everyone’s attention was focused elsewhere, she quietly slipped away and headed for the car park.

It was the last time she’d walk across Stone Street Studios and she did so while praying she could make it to the car without being spotted. Thankfully, her prayer was answered. She drove to the tiny wee flat that had been her home for eighteen months while trying desperately not to think or feel. She parked Mrs. Wallace’s car in its spot and climbed the steps one last time on legs that didn’t want to move. She had just finished changing when she heard the cab beep, and she closed the zip on her suitcase and prepared to go downstairs.

She would not look around the flat before she left.

She couldn’t. The second she heard the cab, it became real. It was over. The moment Maggie had been praying for for the better part of the last week had arrived. She was leaving. She was leaving the flat. She was leaving Mrs. Wallace. She was leaving New Zealand.

She was leaving Richard.

_Dammit, no. I will not cry. Not now. Not yet. Please. Just let me get through this with some dignity. PLEASE. I’ve crossed lines I never meant to and I’ve got no one but myself to blame for how hard this is. But please. Just let me get on the plane before I fall apart. God, please._

On her way down the steps, she saw Mrs. Wallace and her son Robert waiting for her and it took everything she had not to run back up and barricade herself in the flat. Robert pulled her into an enormous bear hug and then it was Mrs. Wallace’s turn.

“I will never find another tenant like you,” she said through tears. “I know you’re not likely ever to come back this way, but if you ever do, you promise me you’ll stop in and say hello. I’ll always have a cup of tea waiting for you.”

Maggie merely nodded, afraid to speak. While she hugged Mrs. Wallace, Robert took her suitcase to the cab.

“Thank you for everything,” she said as she and Mrs. Wallace held each other tight. “Thank you for giving me a home.”

Mrs. Wallace squeezed her more tightly. “It was my pleasure, d- Oh. It looks like you’re losing your cab.”

“I…what?” Maggie turned in time to see the cab pull away and a black fleet car which had pulled up alongside. Robert was helping the driver load her suitcase in the boot. She charged over and reached for the handle of her case. “What the hell is going on here?” The driver never answered. Someone behind her did.

“You really thought you were going to get away without saying goodbye,” Richard said. It wasn’t a question – just a sad statement.

Maggie let go of her case as she turned to face him. “I…what are you doing here,” she asked on a shaky breath.

“Not letting you sneak off and taking you to the airport.”

“But…your flight doesn’t leave until later. You don’t have to be at the airport for hours!”

“Yeah, well…I can wait in an airport just as well as I can wait anywhere else,” he answered with a small smile. “You were really going to leave without saying a word, weren’t you?” He looked so sad. Almost as sad as when… _Oh lord, I can’t do this._

“I…” Her voice cracked and words deserted her.

“I know. You’re bad at goodbyes. Good thing I knew you’d try this, then, eh? And good thing we’re not saying goodbye.”

“We’re…not?”

“No, we’re not. We’re friends now, Maggie. _Real_ friends. Not because of this film and not because of this place. Not anymore. We’re friends and we’ll keep in touch, so there’s no reason to say goodbye.”

 _We’ll keep in touch._ There it was again, this time from _his_ lips. But Maggie knew that despite their best intentions, they’d drift apart and it would happen much, _much_ sooner than later. She knew at best they might run into each other someday and they’d exchange pleasantries, but the friendship was ending. All they’d ever have afterward was acquaintance and memories. She knew it and she knew that he did, too.

She wanted to stamp her feet. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch him in his beautiful face. But she was a coward and all she said was, “You should go say goodbye to Mrs. Wallace.”

Maggie trailed after him and watched as he shook Robert’s hand and then wrapped Mrs. Wallace in a hug and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Despite her misery, Maggie smiled when Mrs. Wallace blushed. One more hug each for both Wallaces and then Maggie was walking back to the car with Richard, his hand on the small of her back.

Once in the car, Maggie sat straight-backed and waved as it pulled away and she fought tears. Once they were around the corner and out of sight, Maggie kept her gaze out the window and sat just as stiffly and tried to pretend Richard wasn’t there. He wasn’t letting her get away with that, either.

“Hey,” he said softly and she turned her head slowly to face him. He stretched his arm out to her and tapped his chest with his other hand. “Come here.”

The prudent thing would have been to refuse. She didn’t do the prudent thing.

Maggie slid over to him and buried her face in his chest as his arms wrapped around her. She thought she would burst into tears, but oddly, she felt better sitting like that. Calmer. She was sure she’d remember how he smelled until the day she died. Neither spoke – they just sat holding each other the whole way to the airport, and while they did, it felt like nothing could hurt her ever again.

It was, sadly, a very short drive.

They went through check-in and security together and Richard insisted on staying with Maggie until her plane boarded. She tried to protest, but he was having none of it.

“Buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m not really in the mood, believe it or not.”

He smiled. “Who are you and what have you done with Mairead Drummond? Oh shit, I almost forgot. I have something for you,” he said as he rummaged through his carry-on and pulled out a small box. “Souvenir.”

She took the box with a quizzical frown and opened it. “Thorin’s braid beads??? Richard, I can’t take these! They’re yours!” She tried to hand them back.

“I want you to have them, Maggie. I thought…well,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought maybe you knew a pirate queen who might like them.”

She looked up at him in surprise. He was adorable and embarrassed and awkward and she didn’t think she’d been so touched in her entire life. And it almost killed her. “I…thank you. She’ll love them,” she said as she threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered again…and then realized what she was doing. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t be grabbing you in public.”

She started to pull away, but he held her tight. “I doubt there’s any paparazzi here, Maggie, but even if there is, who gives a fuck? I’m a grown man and I can hug who I want where I want.”

A few seconds later, her flight was called. This was it, then.

“That’s me,” she said and she suddenly couldn’t look him in the eye.

Richard cleared his throat. “Right then. Okay. Promise me you’ll text me when you land. And I mean you have to keep your promise. Don’t forget and make me worry,” he said as he shook his finger in her face.

“I promise,” she answered solemnly. “I won’t forget.”

He nodded. “And don’t be so damn bloody stubborn all the time, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” she said with a small smile. “And you – try to enjoy yourself a little, okay? Don’t always be so focused on what you didn’t do and what you should have done and appreciate what you have accomplished. If nothing else, enjoy the fact that you probably won’t have any 4:30 makeup calls and you’ll probably spend less than ten minutes a day in the chair.”

“I’ll do my best,” he echoed and pulled her back and enveloped her in a hug. Even her brothers, as large as they were, didn’t make her feel as _held_ as Richard did. “Take care of yourself,” he said into her hair.

“You too,” she answered as she held onto him tight.

He cleared his throat again, and pulled out of the hug. “Right then,” he said before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “No goodbye.”

“No goodbye,” she said with a nod. Maggie tucked Thorin’s beads into her bag and gave Richard the biggest smile she could. It wasn’t very big.

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you…May-reed.” It was the exact thing he’d said the day they met and she responded in kind.

“Oh no, the pleasure was all mine…Monsieur Armitazh.”

Maggie made herself walk to the gate, though how she got her legs to move, she’d never know. At the doors, she paused and turned for one last look and prayed she was far enough away that he couldn’t see the tears that were about to spill over. She gave him a small wave and an even smaller smile and then turned and walked on.

She made herself as numb as she could and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Somehow, she got on the plane. Somehow, she found her seat. Somehow, she stowed her bag. Somehow, she sat. And somehow, she fastened her safety belt. She had no recollection of any of it.

Her first conscious thought came as the wheels of the plane left the ground and the dam inside her burst. Maggie fell apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, really. They get married. I promise. :-)


	19. Moving on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in posting. Real life has a way of rearing its ugly head from time to time, and this was one of those times. Thanks for your patience. Now I'm about to beg a little more of it. :-)
> 
> Oh, and the ending may be a little NSFW-ish.

The flight attendant was really very understanding, all things considered.

After ascertaining that Maggie wasn’t insane or panicking over a fear of flying, she did her best to keep her supplied with tissues and water. By the time they landed in Sydney, Maggie had mostly gotten control of herself.

One hour down, twenty-nine in the air and two by bus to go.

Maggie spent as much of the flight to LAX as she could going over the things she’d need to do once she arrived in Ireland. She figured that focusing on what she was headed toward was a far better use of her time than dwelling on what she was leaving. She had the shooting schedule and the makeup orders, so she sat making lists and plans as long as she could. She did not want to sleep.

_To sleep, perchance to dream…_

Her time in New Zealand had taught Maggie that she had absolutely no control whatsoever over her subconscious, and if there were things she was forbidding herself from thinking about while awake, the chances that her subconscious would think about them for her while asleep was much higher. She couldn’t face thoughts about the people and places she’d never see again, conscious or not, and so she tried to distract herself. She read, she made a list of ingredients she’d need for fake blood, she walked about, she splashed water in her face in the washroom, she played a game on her tablet; but somewhere over the Pacific, sleep staked its claim.

_She was in the workshop. Dozens of pairs of elf ears littered her table and she sang to herself as she airbrushed one in her hand. She smiled as Mrs. Wallace brought her a cup of tea, but then suddenly she was astride a horse in the middle of a meadow. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind before the scene changed again and she found herself in bed in her tiny Wellington flat. She was still held from behind and she could feel warm breath ghosting over the skin of her shoulder and stirring the hair on her neck. She smiled and stretched sinuously and was rewarded with a soft moan from the man in her be –_

Maggie woke with a start, disoriented and groggy. There was still an hour to go before they landed in LA, and she spent most of it drinking coffee. That dream was exactly the kind of thing she wanted to avoid. She didn’t want to think about _The Hobbit_ or Mrs. Wallace or the horse or…well, she didn’t know where the man part came from but whatever that was about, she didn’t want to think about _it_ , either.

She wished she were going home. Or did she? Wasn’t throwing herself into another project exactly the right thing to do? Wasn’t putting _The Hobbit_ behind her the most prudent course of action and wasn’t getting stuck into something new right away the best way to move on?

What Maggie really wanted, in a perfect world, was to go home, climb into bed, and stay there for the next six months. Not that Morag or Lizzie would let her do that, of course, but it was a nice fantasy. Almost as nice as the fantasy of the man in her bed.

Once at LAX, Maggie slogged her way through the terminal to wait for the next leg of her journey. Why did New Zealand have to be so bloody far from everywhere? _When did I become such a whiny bitch?_ After a few more cups of coffee in the lounge, she boarded the flight to London.

Two legs down, three more to go.

Staying awake was initially easier than it had been before because all the coffee kept her running to the washroom every so often, but that only lasted so long and it was back to walking about, splashing water, playing games, and reading to keep herself awake. By the time she landed on British Isle soil, Maggie was exhausted. And she still wasn’t in Ireland. Turbulence was enough to keep her awake on the final flight to Dublin, which she considered both good and bad; and then finally, Maggie found herself stepping out into a chilly Irish rain.

_“Promise me you’ll text me when you land.”_

_Oh. Richard. Right_. She’d promised she’d not forget and she hadn’t. She had no idea what time it was wherever he was. In fact, she didn’t honestly know _where_ he was and she didn’t have the patience to try to find out. She sent a text as she ran through the rain for the bus, dragging her luggage behind her.

_I remembered. Landed in the rain - two more hours by bus to Ashford. I’m in one piece._

She probably should have worded it differently, but it was frankly amazing that she could put together a coherent sentence.

_Thank you for remembering. You seem tired. Hope you have time to rest._

_Thanks. I’ll sleep when I’m dead._

That was…blunt and not terribly polite, but she was far too spent to care. The bus ride to Ashford passed in a haze, and thirty-some hours after she left Wellington, Maggie threw herself, fully clothed, into bed in the Irish hotel room she’d call “home” for the next ten weeks.

The first few days of filming on _Vikings_ were difficult as her body fought jet lag and she struggled to find a new stride. She had gotten far too used to her routine in Wellington, and she seemed to have more trouble finding her way on a new production than she normally did.

It would probably help if she weren’t so damn tired all the time.

Her days were spent filming battle scenes – turning slightly disreputable fighters into completely disreputable Vikings, flinging gallons of blood about, applying prosthetic scars and wounds – and her nights were spent creating the next day’s scars and wounds. Her free time…well, that was a bit of a problem. Maggie found that she lacked the energy to do much with the time she had off. She did spend most of her first free weekend with Lizzie, but begged off going out with the adults at night. It didn’t go over well, but she just couldn’t seem to shake the jetlag. Basically, when she wasn’t working she was sleeping. Her family was not pleased. She bore the complaints of her relatives (especially Morag) as best she could. Those complaints may have been another reason she was so tired.

She dearly wished they understood. Besides the fact that she couldn’t seem to catch up on sleep, it was exhausting trying to ride herd on a bunch of fighters and her cadre of makeup artists. And just to make things even more complicated, she’d been conscripted for background and sword work. It was fun, and something she hadn’t realized she had missed, but it was odd trying to do makeup when she herself was in full costume.

And then one day, about two weeks into filming, Maggie received something completely unexpected. She checked her phone as she walked to the canteen for lunch and saw a text. From Richard.

_How many South Americans does it take to change a light bulb?_

A joke? From Richard? The man who, by his own admission, could never remember jokes?

_I have no idea. How many DOES it take?_

It took until they had wrapped for the night for Maggie to see the punchline: _A BRAZILIAN._

It was, quite possibly, the stupidest joke Maggie had heard in a very long while, but she found herself giggling regardless.

_That was awful and you should be ashamed of yourself. :-D_

Had she stopped to think about it, she might have thought she was somewhat inordinately pleased by the fact that Richard had taken the time to text her a stupid joke. She didn’t really stop to think about it.

After that, she got a Richard text every day or so: waterlogged selfies from the set ( _wow, does he look odd clean-shaven_ ), a picture of an empty makeup chair with the caption “look where I’m NOT spending two hours every morning”, whinging about the makeup person with the horrific breath who did his touch-ups, and more stupid jokes than she could possibly count.

Every single message made her smile.

Those messages were a reminder, a thread that kept her connected to her time in New Zealand, and she cherished each one. She just didn’t tell anyone about them. It’s not that Maggie never kept in touch with people she’d worked with, it was just that…well, Morag would make a bigger deal out of it than it was and she just didn’t have the patience to listen to that.

She didn’t tell anyone when she sent Richard a birthday present, either.

Maggie was spending a free Saturday poking about in the shops of Ashford and its surroundings, when she walked into a specialty grocer’s and saw a large display of Butler’s Irish Chocolate. Immediately, she thought of Richard and it just happened to be his birthday a few days on. Without stopping to think about it for even a second, she purchased a large assortment – a few of these, a couple of those, some of that kind, a bunch of them – and took it all back to the hotel to box it up and get it ready to ship. She wrote a card that said, “ _Happy birthday from Ireland! Sorry I couldn’t figure out how to get ice cream from New Zealand to Detroit, but maybe next year. Until then, please accept this consolation package. M._ ” and left it with the front desk to post for her.

She was just stepping out of the shower a few mornings later when her phone rang. It was Richard.

“Hey birthday boy! To what do I owe this honor?”

“I wanted to thank you. No one has ever sent me a lifetime supply of chocolate before.” He chuckled and Maggie realized with a start just how much she’d missed his voice.

She laughed. “Lifetime supply? You planning to off yourself? That shouldn’t last that long.”

“Are you kidding me? It will take me _years_ to eat this much!”

“The hell it will, Oakenaddict. You used to consume your weight in ice cream on my couch in a month.”

“Did not,” he replied with just the slightest hint of petulance in his tone. “But anyway, thank you. I didn’t know you even knew when my birthday was.” _He sounds…mystified?_

“You’re welcome and you’re kidding, right? Hello? Google, Wikipedia, IMDB…”

“Well, that’s not fair! I don’t know when yours is. Or was? How many have I missed?”

“Well, theoretically, you’ve missed all of them,” she chuckled, oddly touched that he would think to ask. “But as we’ve only known each other for two of them, you’re excused for the first thirty-three. And really, you pretty much only tolerated me during my thirty-fourth, so I’ll let you off the hook for that one, too.”

“And the thirty-fifth?”

“Yep, you missed that one completely, you bastard,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“When was it? Please don’t tell me it was a Sunday. And if it was, please tell me I at least bought you dinner and didn’t make you cook for me.”

“Hey, you never _made_ me cook for you, but no, it wasn’t a Sunday. It was…well, actually you did have dinner at my place that night. You had ice cream and wine.”

“Ice cream and wi- Oh, fucking hell, Maggie, THAT was your birthday? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you had other things on your mind, you ridiculous man!”

“Yeah, but… Christ, Maggs, that was…oh god, that was your birthday. Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, stop. I turned thirty-five, not five. Birthdays were a big deal to me when I was wee, but they’re not so much now. Besides, I had ice cream that night, too. And then I had a hot movie star in my bed, so that’s pretty much the greatest birthday ever, really.”

“I feel like an utter cock.”

Birthdays hadn’t been anything special for her for years, and well, he’d seemed to need her that night. Or need _someone_ , anyway. “Okay, how about I rephrase? I got to eat ice cream that night, too, and then I had the privilege of comforting a friend who needed it. That’s not such a bad use of my time, you know. Better?”

“A little,” he conceded. “But still…”

“But still nothing. I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got dirty, hairy Vikings to go splatter with blood.”

“Well, of course you do. But wait – what’s the date? Of your birthday, I mean.”

“June 20. And Richard? You don’t have to eat all the chocolate by yourself, you know. You could share it. Maybe your makeup person would like some.” As she said it, her stomach gave a strange little lurch. _Wow, I must be hungry. I’ll have to try to fit in some breakie this morning._

“There is only one makeup person I would share my chocolates with, Maggie,” he answered in mock seriousness. “Have a good day, okay?”

“You too, Oaken…birthday? Sorry, it’s early and I’ve not had coffee yet. Take care.”

“You too,” he answered and ended the call.

Maggie couldn’t seem to stop smiling. It was sweet that he’d call to say thank you instead of texting, and that he’d made a big deal about wondering when her birthday was. She didn’t for a minute think he’d remember (why would he?), but it was kind of him to ask. And he’d seemed genuinely touched that she’d sent the chocolates. It was a surprising, welcome start that day.

The weather was unseasonably cold, even for Ireland, and quite rainy and filming large battle scenes became an even bigger challenge. As a result, the production, which should have wrapped at the end of August, extended well into September. Maggie hadn’t been home even once.

She’d intended to. She’d intended to spend most of her weekends in Scotland, but when it came down to it, she just…well, sometimes she had a reason – like a backlog of prep work or extra shooting – and sometimes she really didn’t. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she just hadn’t felt like going home. After all the time she’d spent in New Zealand wishing she could, it didn’t seem logical, but there it was. And then _Vikings_ wrapped and there was nowhere else to be, and Maggie finally went back to Scotland.

It felt…odd.

Her house, which wasn't much larger than a crofter’s cottage, seemed too big. Maggie supposed that was due to spending a year and a half in a tiny flat followed by ten weeks in an even smaller hotel room. Whatever the reason, Maggie felt strange in her own home – like she didn’t fit in it anymore.

 _I’ve been away for a very long time. I can’t expect it all to feel normal right away_.

It may not have been so bad if she had had anything to do, but for the first time in years, Maggie had absolutely nothing on – nowhere to go, nowhere to be, nothing to do – and she didn’t know what to do with herself. Mostly, she just slept. She had no energy, no drive, and no focus, and she couldn’t be fussed to care. Her family let her be…for about a week, and then the nagging started.

It was mostly Morag, of course. She’d try to get Maggie to go shopping, or see a film, or come out to Hamish’s pub, or have a meal, or go get manicures, or any of several other things that Maggie had absolutely no interest in.

“What the hell’s wrong wi’ ye?” Morag asked bluntly, after Maggie dodged her invitation to go to the wholesaler’s for supplies for the pub.

“What are ye talkin’ about? Nothin’s wrong wi’ me,” Maggie answered as she stepped into the boots she wore to work with the horses.

“Ye’ve not been yerself since ye came home. I’m worrit about ye.”

“Because I dinnae want tae go pick up veg at the wholesaler’s? I never wanted tae do that before, either. Besides, I’ve stalls to muck.”

“I’m no' just talking about the wholesaler’s, ye eejit. It seems all ye ever do is sleep or work wi’ the horses. Ye never want to go anywhere and ye’re too bloody quiet.”

“Stop worrying, mother hen. I’m fine. And as for quiet…wi’ ye and yer daughter around, who can get a word in edgewise?” She grinned and walked off before Morag could say anything else, knowing full well she wouldn’t be followed. Morag had no tolerance for horses or their shite.

Maggie, however, loved the horses. The barn and paddocks were the last recognizable remnants of the farm that had been in her family for three generations until her parents decided the cold and damp of Scotland was more than her father’s arthritis could bear. With Hamish, Rory, and Maggie settled in their lives, there was no one to hand the farm over to when the elder Drummonds decided to move to Spain, so they sold up to Maggie’s cousin Charlie for use for the clan. Charlie’s dream was to build a historically accurate, working medieval fort and village to serve as an educational center on the land. Buildings had been razed, acreage graded and leveled, the footprint of what would be the fort had been cleared of vegetation, and building had begun. Were it not for the clan’s need of horses, the barn and paddocks would probably be gone, too, and that would have made Maggie sad. She didn’t mourn the loss of the farm because she was just as excited as Charlie about the fort, which had been dubbed DunCarron. She did miss the animals, though. There had always been something homely about the cows, goats, sheep, and chickens, but at least they still had the horses.

Maggie made her way to the barn and set about turning the horses loose in the paddocks so she could muck the stalls. It was, admittedly, not the most pleasant of chores, but there was something about working up a good honest sweat while taking care of the beasties that Maggie found satisfying, and the good Lord knew there wasn’t much in her life at the moment that could be described as such.

She sighed. _Good question, Morag. What the hell IS wrong with me?_

Maggie pondered that a bit while she shoveled shite, not that she came up with an answer. She simply didn’t _know_ what her problem was. She felt…rudderless and empty, like something was missing, but she couldn’t put her finger on _what_ the something was. She had everything she could possibly want: a home, her family, friends, a job she loved, her horse, a bit of money in the bank – what the holy fucking hell was there to be so bloody glum about?

She sighed again as she forked fresh hay into the stalls. Brooding about things wasn’t providing her with any answers and she really needed to solve this whole Madam Mope thing before Morag decided (again) that she was lonely and started setting her up on blind dates (again). Maggie shuddered at the thought. Maybe she should consider a vacation? No, that would never work. She’d been gone for the vast majority of the past two years already and if she suddenly trotted off somewhere else for whatever reason, she’d never hear the end of it. Besides, Lizzie would be heartbroken if she told her she was leaving again.

There was nothing for it. If she couldn’t figure out what her problem was, she’d just have to slog though it somehow. The thought of it depressed her immensely and she sighed again. _Well, at least the stalls are clean._

One by one, Maggie brought the horses in from the paddock, settling them with their feed for the night. When it was time to bring her own horse in, she decided instead to saddle him up and go for a ride.

Maggie loved the trails around the Carron Valley Reservoir, especially as autumn was starting. The leaves were turning, the heather was going brown, and there was a bite in the air. She held Prancer (dumb name for the big Friesian gelding, but it’s what Rory had started calling him when he was a foal and it had stuck) to a leisurely pace, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of home.

_Home. I’m home._

She should be happier about that, shouldn’t she? It wasn’t that she was _unhappy_ to be there, it’s just…well, there was a restlessness she couldn’t understand and it was pissing her off just about as much as it was pissing off Morag.

_Maybe I’m just hormonal._

Maggie turned Prancer back toward home and gave him his head. She settled into the gentle rocking and looked around her. The day had been lovely and the last rays of the sun reflected off the water and she could smell a peat fire somewhere.

_There are worse places to be._

Maybe she didn’t need to figure out what was wrong. Maybe she just needed to do a better job of pretending nothing was. If she did it well enough, maybe she could keep Morag off her back and maybe she’d even manage to convince herself all was well.

_Now, if I can just pull it off…_

They were back at the barn. Maggie unsaddled Prancer and had just started brushing him down when she heard a voice behind her.

“I’ve come tae ask ye tae supper and I’ll no’ leave here wi’out ye.”

Maggie sighed. _Et tu, Hamish?_

“Actually,” she said as she turned and pasted a smile on her face, “I was thinking of doing takeaway. I’ve not had decent fish and chips in donkey’s and I’m just about gagging for them.”

“Well, if it’s a fish supper ye’re after, I can run down tae the chippy for all of us,” Hamish countered and crossed his arms over his chest.

Maggie laughed. “Did yer wife send you?”

“I dinnae need Morag tae tell me when there’s something wrong wi’ ye, Mairead. I’ve known ye longer than she has.”

“Oh lord, Hamish! There’s nothing wrong wi’ me! I just fancy takeaway, that’s all,” she shook her head with a smile and turned back to finish brushing Prancer down. “And I’m sure Morag’s already got yer supper sorted.”

Hamish grunted. “Do ye really think that if I called home right now an’ said I was coming home wi’ you and fish suppers, that she’d really complain?”

“Well, no, I suppose not,” she answered with a grin. “Okay, go run tae the chippy. I’ll be along once I finish here.”

“Ah, no. I think not. I’ll wait here until ye’re done, then we’ll go home together and then I’ll run tae th’ chippy.”

“Hamish!”

"I’ll not gie ye the chance tae beg off now I’ve gotten ye tae agree tae come. So I’ll just wait here an’ escort ye home.” To prove his point, he sat on a straw pile and leaned against the wall and crossed his arms again.

“Stubborn arse,” Maggie said, just loudly enough to be heard.

“Aye,” he answered, unperturbed. “Near stubborn as yersel’.”

Maggie didn’t bother answering, but instead went back to putting up Prancer for the night. If Hamish wanted to wait her out, then wait he would. She took extra care and moved more slowly than she normally would just out of spite. Eventually, though, there was nothing left to do and she walked over to Hamish to announce she was ready to leave.

“All right, Hamish, I-“

_The giant bloody bastard is asleep._

She kicked one of his feet and he jerked awake.

“Ready tae go at last, are ye? Help me up, lass.”

Maggie did as she was commanded and they headed for Hamish’s truck after closing up the barn for the night. Once inside the vehicle, Hamish sat without moving.

“Um, it usually works better if ye put the key in the ignition. Or were ye plannin’ tae have me push?”

“I wanted tae talk wi’ ye first,” Hamish answered as he pressed the button to lock all the doors. He laughed as Maggie’s eyes went wide. “I can push th’ button faster than you can pull up th’ lock, so ye might as well listen. As wi’ Lizzie, I find a captive audience the easier to converse wi’.”

“Are ye honestly comparing me to yer seven year old daughter?”

Hamish grinned. “Obviously. Now…since I have ye here, why don’t you tell me what’s goin’ on wi’ ye?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Morag _did_ send you. Nothing’s wrong, Hamish,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

“Dinna insult me wi’ a lie, Mairead,” he said calmly while favoring her with a look that would have made their Da proud.

“Oh fuck you, I’m NOT lying!”

Hamish said nothing. He just sat placidly behind the wheel and stared her down. Well, two could play at that game. If _he_ could sit and stare, then so could she. The only problem with that plan was that Maggie had never once bested him in a staring contest. The silence stretched on until she could no longer bear it.

“Oh, the HELL with this! I dinnae have tae sit here an’ I dinnae owe ye any explanations an’ I’ll just go get my own damn fish supper an’ ye can go fuck yers-“

Hamish reached over and calmly but firmly took her by the arm just as she had succeeded in getting the door unlocked.

“Mairead. Talk to me,” he said quietly and she was surprised at the concern in his voice.

Maggie groaned. “I’m _fine_ , Hamish. I promise. It’s just…I’m not…I don’t…” Everything would have been fine had she not made eye contact with him, but the worry in his eyes did her in and she crumbled. “I…I dinnae know _what’s_ wrong,” she said, feeling utterly deflated. “Nothing feels right, but I dinnae know why.”

“Oh, love,” he answered. “Do ye not? Truly?” After Maggie shook her head he added, “may I offer a theory?” and she nodded, warily. “The fact is, ye’ve always been a bit out o’ sorts when ye’re done wi’ a job,” he began, gently. _That’s true enough. I suppose._ “And well, this one, this Hobbit…well, it was bigger an’ longer an’ further awa’ than any other, aye?”

“Aye, I guess,” she mumbled and shrugged.

“Now, I’m no’ sayin’ ye’re not a friendly enough lass because ye are. Ye make friends wherever ye go, I’ve seen ye. But well, ye didnae have th’ luxury of comin’ home and it would have been a terrible lonely experience if ye didnae make more of an effort than ye usually do tae connect wi’ people. Aye?”

Another shrug and Maggie looked away. She wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. Hamish knew it, too, and he laid a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed.

“I think mebbe ye had to open up a bit more than ye’re used and got a wee bit closer to some folk than ye meant to,” he said softly.

She probably would have tried to protest, but before she could even draw breath to do so, she surrendered. _Damn him. How in the hell could he possibly be right? Mrs. Wallace. Robert. The horses. Natalie. The stunties…_ She said nothing – she merely looked out the window.

“Mairead?”

“Aye,” she whispered. “Mebbe.”

But there was no maybe about it. Maggie had gone halfway around the world and knew not even one other soul when she got there. She was, as Hamish had said, “friendly enough” on a shoot, but she generally avoided making too many deep connections. What was the point when she’d only be moving on in a month or so? But with _The Hobbit…_ It had been so far away and such a very long time…

“No man is an island, hen. And no woman is, either,” Hamish said. “Hell, I’d think there was somethin’ wrong wi’ ye if ye _didnae_ come back a bit blue. Carin’ about folk…well, it’s no’ a disadvantage, ye ken. Though sometimes it hurts like it is.”

Maggie turned to look at him then, and when she did, her eyes filled. Hamish held his arms open for her, and she let him envelop her in a giant bear hug.

“It’s okay to miss them, love,” he said and she could feel his voice rumble through his chest. “It’s okay to be human once in a while, aye? Just dinnae go fergettin’ us as known ye yer whole life.” She said nothing and he held her like that for quite some time…until his stomach growled. “Okay, ye wee sap. Time for supper.”

Maggie sat up and wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Hamish.”

“Och, ye dinna have tae thank me. It was just self-defense, really,” he answered as he started the truck and headed for home. “Morag wouldnae shut up about ye. Figured I had tae do somethin’ or I’d never have a decent night’s sleep again. Course,” he added conversationally, “Morag thinks mebbe there’s a likely lad ye’re missing?” He was watching her from the corner of his eye.

Maggie snorted. “Of course she does. But no. No likely lads. Just…friends.”

“Mmphm,” he replied, in acceptance.

Hamish dropped her off at his house and went on to the chippy. Morag and Lizzie were overjoyed that Maggie was joining them for dinner, and they all had an enjoyable night – the most enjoyable since Maggie had returned.

After her talk with Hamish, things got a bit easier for Maggie. The emptiness was still there inside her, but now that it had been properly identified, it no longer threatened to engulf her and wasn’t so difficult to bear. And once Maggie was able to relax a bit, so was Morag. And that made _everyone’s_ life easier.

The shift in attitude came at just the right time, too, because the Clan was getting ready for its first Halloween since construction had begun at DunCarron. Maggie’s cousin Charlie had hired a photographer to come and do some promotional stuff, and there was a flurry of activity as costumes were made, props built, and makeup and hair designed. And then there were the photoshoots themselves, featuring a wide variety of villagers and Highlanders and Vikings, with every member of the Clan who could be there participating. Rory had even managed to get a couple of days off to be part of it. On the last day the photographer was to be there, Morag approached Maggie with a new pirate outfit she’d made.

“I thought we were retiring ‘Mad Mairead’? Charlie didnae ask for any pirate stuff.”

Morag laughed. “Ye were _hoping_ we were retiring “Mad Mairead’, but no. Charlie didnae ask because we already have enough of the pirate stuff. This is my own wee project. I found some new designs when I was doin’ research an’ I thought ye’d look fantastic in it.” She held up the costume for Maggie’s inspection. The work was amazing (Morag was an excellent seamstress), but…

“There’s no way I’ll ever fit in that! And even if I could, I cannae wear it…well, most places.”

“Och, it’s just a bit of fun! I thought ye could wear it to the bonfire do on Halloween. And I promise ye, I will get ye into this.”

“Mebbe. But will I be able tae breathe?”

Morag laughed. “We’ll see, won’t we? Come on. Get yer kit off.”

A short while later, Maggie was trying desperately not to pass out while Morag laced her in.

"Just hold it…a bit more…there. _Told_ ye, I’d get ye in.” Morag sounded inordinately pleased with herself. “Now, about yer hair…”

“Should we not have done my hair _before_ we laced me in?” Maggie whined while taking very shallow breaths. She was afraid to do much else. “Oh wait! My hair! I have something to put in it, but ye’re gonnae have tae play fetch. I dinnae think I can walk upstairs – or anywhere else in this.” She still hadn’t taken a full breath.

“Oh, for the love of god, get up, move around. _Breathe_ fer god’s sake. Everything is triple-stitched. Ye’re not going anywhere until ye untie it.”

Maggie gingerly took a deeper breath and then tried walking. Morag was right – nothing was going anywhere. It was all very tight, but she could move and fairly easily at that. She went upstairs and fetched Thorin’s beads with Morag trailing behind.

“Oh, these are lovely. Where did ye get them?”

“They’re a souvenir. From _The Hobbit._ ”

“Oh, aye? Did ye steal them?”

Maggie laughed. “Lord, no! They were a gift, silly.” She sat on a chair in her bedroom while Morag started fussing with her hair.

“A gift? Do tell. Who gave ye such a thing?”

 _Oops. Best not to answer that completely truthfully._ “Don’t get excited. Lots of people got souvenirs from filming.”

“Mmphm,” Morag replied as she braided the beads into Maggie’s hair. “There. They look perfect. Now, go do yer makeup…because ye’re the professional,” she added when Maggie opened her mouth to protest. “But make it dramatic. Ye know, like ye would if ye were doing someone else’s makeup. Not yer own.”

Maggie just shook her head and went off to do Morag’s bidding. Ten minutes later, her look was complete and though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, she had to hand it to Morag. She did look pretty damn good.

Morag was far more enthusiastic. “Holy tits! Look at ye! Ye look even better than I’d expected. Come on!”

Before Maggie could even ask where they were going, Morag grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the house and headed for the fort site where the photographer was just about to leave. Morag wouldn’t allow that until he’d taken a few pictures of Maggie. Only after doing so and promising to email them – to Morag, not Maggie lest they never see the light of day – was he dismissed.

A few days later, Maggie was in the barn when Rory came in.

“Checked your email recently, Mad?”

“Hello tae you, too. No, I dinnae think I’ve gotten any,” she replied as she pulled out her phone. “Wh- oh hell, it must have been on silent. I _do_ have email.” It was the pirate pictures. Maggie laughed. “Morag’s gonnae be livid. He was supposed tae mail these tae her.”

“He did,” Rory replied. “If ye’ll notice, she forwarded them on…to the whole Clan. She’s quite proud of her needlework.”

Maggie laughed again. “She _should_ be proud. Tight though it all is, it’s surprisingly comfortable an’ really well-made. I’ll let her have her time tae gloat.”

“You should mail them to your New Zealand friends,” he said…a little _too_ casually.

“Friends? Plural? Or are ye referrin’ tae one friend in particular? One friend, perhaps, that _yer_ big mouth told about the pirate thing in the first place?”

Rory laughed. “Ye kicked me in the _shin_ , Mad. I had to do _something_ to get back at ye. So how the hell are ye, anyway?”

Even though Rory had been home for a few days, they’d not had much chance to talk, so they spent a happy hour catching each other up until he had to head to Edinburgh for the afternoon. After he left, Maggie thought about Rory’s suggestion.

She didn’t really have any kind of concrete reason to send the pictures to Richard, so it would be silly to do so. Then again, he had given her the beads she was wearing , and he’d given them to her for the express purpose of becoming part of her pirate costume. In that light, it seemed only right to let him know she’d put them to their intended use. She typed a brief note and attached what she thought was the best shot.

“Happy Halloween. We have a party planned for the day in question, but Charlie brought in a photographer a few days early to do some promo stuff for some of the time periods we cover for schools. Thought you might like to see what became of Thorin’s beads.”

Not very long after that, Maggie’s phone beeped. It was a text from Richard.

_Please tell me you don’t actually send THAT picture around to schools?_

Maggie was taken aback. She wasn’t sure what kind of response she was expecting, but it wasn’t that. She felt…disappointed. She rather _liked_ that picture – which was an odd thing for her. After typing and erasing several messages, she finally settled on a reply.

_What’s wrong with that picture? I think I actually look pretty okay._

_Oh, you look more than “okay”. WAY more than “okay”._

Well, that was a little better. _And the beads? Do you like the beads?_

_There are beads in this picture?_

Okay, that one made her laugh. _LOL Yes, you giant dork! Okay, no, we’re not sending that picture around to schools. That was just Morag and me having a laugh. Thought you’d laugh, too, and might appreciate seeing your beads._

_Oh. THOSE beads. They look good. Thank you._

_You’re welcome. Happy Halloween, Armitazh._

_Happy Halloween, May-reed._

It was silly, but the whole exchange made her feel…well, good. Happy. The truth was, she felt pretty damn awesome in that ridiculous outfit and she chose to take Richard’s reaction to it as a positive one. Not that you could interpret tone in a text, but… Well, she could believe whatever she chose to believe, thank you very much.

A few nights later, on Halloween, she wore the outfit – and Richard’s beads – again to the bonfire and Halloween party. She felt fantastic. Powerful. Pretty …no, _sexy_ and she had a hell of a great time. It was just too bad there were no “likely lads” as Hamish would put it, because after a whole lot of alcohol, she not only felt sexy, she felt damn horny.

She giggled at that as she wobbled her way home. She hadn’t felt that in…well, longer than she could remember. Weeks? Months? She had no idea, but it was a long fucking time. _Hee. Bad choice of words there, Mairead._

“No, not Mairead – _Mad_ Mairead,” she giggled to herself in front of her bedroom mirror. “The pirate queen who kicks arse an’ takes names an’ fucks her way across th’ High Seas. But at least I look WAY more than okay.”

She giggled again. Who had said that? _Oh. Right. Richard_. Richard had said that. He was the one who thought she looked “way more than okay.” Maggie thought that was pretty high praise from someone who looked like he did. That afternoon, before they got ready for the bonfire, Morag had brought a magazine with a Richard photoshoot in it over for her to see.

 _God, is he hot._ Like ridiculously, sweaty, blisteringly, scorchingly hot. And to make matters worse, he wasn’t just magazine hot. He was hot in real life. _So…flaming…fucking…hot…_

_Uh oh._

She had been undressing while having those thoughts – thoughts she should NOT have been having about Richard. _Stupidly, bloody hot Richard. Richard with the long, graceful fingers and strong hands. Richard with the broad shoulders. Richard with the strong thighs and smolder that could make any woman drop her panti-_

 _NO._ They were friends. They were co-workers. She should NOT be thinking about him like that.

But _WHY_ shouldn’t she? They didn’t work together anymore. Hell, she couldn’t honestly be sure they’d ever see each other face-to-face again. He’d never have to know… So if she wanted to indulge herself a little and think about him _that_ way… Think about those smirky lips and the strong jawline and that perfect, firm, round arse…

At that moment, Maggie knew that “indulging” was going to have to mean more than just _thinking._

Without stopping to question the prudence of what she was doing, she slid into bed. Dreaming was one thing, but she was awake now, and –

Fuck it. She’d never know what it would feel like to have Richard unlace her corset for her or to pull the blouse down off her shoulders, but why couldn’t she imagine it? Why couldn’t she imagine what it would be like for him to turn that smolder on her for real, not just for fun? Why couldn’t she imagine how it would feel if he kissed her, touched her?

Oh god, those fingers, those hands. How would it feel for him to trail them across her flesh? All those nights spent on her couch. All those innocent nights. What if just once it hadn’t been so innocent? What if she had had the guts to sidle closer to him…to touch him…to kiss him…to slide onto his lap, straddle those firm thighs, press herself against him?

Maggie sighed as she moved her hands over herself, imagining they were Richard’s, imagining it was him caressing, rubbing, pinching. Imagining his mouth following his hands – licking, sucking, nipping at her.

_Oh fuck, I’m wet. Richard, why aren’t you here?_

Her own hands and fingers weren’t enough anymore, and she reached into her night table drawer for her favorite toy – the ridiculous purple dick Morag bought for her birthday one year to be funny. _Thank god for batteries_. She switched it on and a low moan escaped her lips as she touched herself with it. _Who needs a man? Men can’t vibrate._

But a toy can’t kiss. A toy can’t sigh. A toy doesn’t have a voice that sounds like warm chocolate poured over gravel. Maggie thought it was entirely possible that Richard, if he so chose, could get her off with just his voice alone. She remembered the day he sang on set, and that set off a bunch of other memories – his smile, his laugh, how he smelled, the way it felt the morning she woke up in his arms, the glimpse she’d gotten of him in his boxer briefs as he slipped into bed the night before…

_God, I want him on top of me, inside me._

She slid the purple toy inside herself as she remembered all the dreams she’d had about him: fucking her in her bed, on her couch, in the shower, in the kitchen, on set, in the makeup chair. She fucked herself while she thought about Richard fucking her, but when she remembered the dream where she rode him on the beach, she held the dildo still and rode it as though she were riding him.

 _Oh god, riding him. Riding Richard. So wrong. So dirty. So hot._ What would it be like when he came? Would he moan? Would he shake? Would he ¬- _oh god!_ – would he say her name? She could picture it all so clearly…

_Blue eyes, glazed with lust; hot breath on her skin; hotter lips, tongue; his hands cupping her ass, hers buried in his hair; his beard, scratching the sensitive skin of her neck, her throat, her breasts; riding him hard, fast, taking him deep; feeling him lose control as he thrust up into her; feeling her body tighten around him; their breath coming faster; moaning; “Oh god, Mairead…”; the shudder of the first spasm rolling through her bod-_

“RICHARD!”

Suddenly, she was boneless, out of breath, unable to move. She lay there, listening to her heart slowly return to its normal beat. She came harder than she had in…well, forever, and yet…

She was dimly aware of a rather dreadful thought as sleep claimed her: as satisfying as that orgasm was, it wasn’t enough. She wanted the real thing. And she wanted Richard to be the one to give it to her.


	20. The best laid plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sing it, Etta! "At LAAAAAAAAAAST..."
> 
> It was never supposed to take this long, and I apologize profusely for that and thank you all for your continued patience. I'll try to do better going forward.
> 
> Just in case you've all misplaced your "Glaswegian to English" dictionaries, I thought I'd give you a few translations:  
> tawpie = silly girl  
> Toon = downtown Glasgow  
> weesht = shut up  
> And for anyone wishing the accent in their heads to be as close to real as possible, the word "film" has two syllables: "fill-um".

                Scotland is renowned for its shite weather – cold, dreary, dark, drizzly days; leaden gray skies with nary a peep of sunshine for weeks on end…until there was a reason you didn’t want the sun to shine. Maggie woke the next morning with the sun beaming brightly through windows whose curtains she hadn’t bothered to draw the night before, and the light felt like knives slicing through her brain.

                _Fucking hell._

                Her head throbbed, her eyes felt like sandpaper – was it normal to _hear_ herself blink? – her mouth and throat felt as though they were lined with cotton wool, and her belly felt like it was trying to contain the roiling sea. _I didn’t drink THAT much last night, did I? And why the hell am I nak-_

_Oh._

                As she shifted to try to find a position that didn’t make her feel like she was about to pass out or vomit or both, her hand came into contact with her purple, battery-operated bed companion, and the last moments before she fell asleep came rushing back. _I want Richard to be the one giving orgasms to me. Aye, right. Me and thousands of other women. And men._

_Fucking hell._

Like that could ever happen. _As if there’s any universe in which that’s so much as a remote possibility. The man could have anyone he wanted – why the bloody fuck would he want me?_ It was a great fantasy, but that’s all it was.

                _Fucking hell._

                As all things do, Maggie’s hangover eventually passed, as did her ridiculous fantasies, and her life settled into a comfortable, if a tad hectic, routine. Construction on the fort progressed as the weather permitted, there were a few new recruits to the Army to cast, and she had just taken a job doing makeup on a revival of _The Elephant Man_ in Edinburgh. It had been quite a while since she’d done live theatre, and she was looking forward to the challenge and the chaos. And thanks to an unfortunate motor bike accident involving one of Hamish’s regular barmaids, Maggie’s precious few free nights were busy as well.

                “Please, Mairead?” he begged for about the umpteenth time.

                “Och, Hamish, I’ve not got many nights free as it is. Do ye not know anyone else?”

                “Well, aye, I do,” he allowed. “But ye’re sae guid wi’ the punters.  Please? I-I’ll pay ye.”

                “Ye’ll pay me, will ye? Oh, this IS serious,” she answered with a grin.

                 In the end, she had given in, of course. Hamish was family after all. And besides, Morag had started making noises about fixing Maggie up on a blind date or six again, but with all of her nights booked, there was conveniently no time. Maggie knew Morag couldn’t be fobbed off forever, but she’d happily milk all the legitimate procrastination she could for as long as she could.

                It was near the end of November before Richard fully entered her consciousness again. And she wished he hadn’t.

                One very slow night at the pub, Maggie was working the bar when Morag came tearing in from the kitchen.

                “GUESS WHAT I JIST SAW!”

                With Morag, it could have been anything. “A ghostie? A premonition? Ooh, a UFO?”

                “No, on telly, ye eejit.”

                “I’ve absolutely no idea,” Maggie replied.

                “I saw th’ trailer fer _Th’ Hobbit_!”

                Maggie laughed. “Oh, that. Well, it makes sense one would start runnin’ sooner than later. How’d it look?”

                “’How’d it look?’ Are ye kiddin’ me?” Morag rolled at her eyes at what she clearly considered to be a stupid question. “So here’s what I’m thinkin’: Lizzie can stay wi’ Auntie Fiona and I’ll mak’ sure the bar’s covered. We could even get a room in Toon and have a whole girls’ thing.”

                “A room in Toon? Fer what?”

                “The midnight show, ye tawpie! It would be fun, yeah?”

                “Morag, that’s gonnae be like a three hour film an’ you want tae watch it startin’ at midnight?”

                “Well, we’ll…take naps afore it. That’s anither guid reason fer the room. Come on, what do ye say?”

                Morag looked so excited that Maggie couldn’t have said no if she wanted, and if truth be told, she really didn’t want to. She’d not been to see a movie when it opened in forever, and it was just crazy enough to be fun. Morag had the room booked and the tickets bought almost before Maggie stopped nodding. A little more than two weeks before the big night, Maggie’s phone buzzed.

                _When are you leaving for Wellington?_

                Maggie smiled when she read the text. Typical Richard. No “hi”, no “hello”, just straight to the point, though what the point was didn’t register. _Why am I going to Wellington?_

                _Um…why am I going to Wellington?_

Was she forgetting something? Did she have some further commitment to the film that she’d either forgotten about or never known?

                _Hello! For the premiere?_

                _Oh that. LOL Sorry. I’m not going to the premiere._

                Maggie was glad Richard answered so quickly because she was working her way into a tizzy thinking she had commitments she had no plans t- _He’s CALLING me?_

                “Hel-“

                “What the hell do you mean you’re not going to the premiere?”

                Again, no hello. Maggie laughed. “Well hello to you, too, Oakengreeting. I thought it was pretty self-explanatory – I’m not going to the premiere.”

                “Are you fucking kidding me? You HAVE to go!”

                Maggie was taken aback by his tone of voice. “I’m sorry. ‘ _Have_ ’ to? I think you’ll find that I don’t, actually.”

                _Bloody cheek. What the hell is he playing at? Does he really think I’m flying to the other side of the planet just to watch a film?_

                 “Well… _why_ aren’t you going? Were you not invited? Because that has to be an oversight.”

                “No, I’m sure I could go if I wanted, but… Well, Morag and I have tickets for the first showing at midnight in Glasgow and-”

                “You don’t _want_ to come?”

                “It’s not about wanting, really. It’s… Well, it’s so far to go. I’ve been doing temp work on a production in Edinbra and Hamish is shorthanded at the pub so I’ve been helping out behind the bar some, too. To go to Wellington, I’d have to take the better part of three days and that’s just for travel. I’d have no time for anything else. Not the film, not to see friends, not even a twenty minute nap, so I’d need at least four, or preferably five, days. It’s just not feasible for me right now.”

                “So you’d rather be a barmaid than come to the premiere,” he concluded, glumly.

                Maggie was shocked – completely and utterly shocked. And then she was so insulted, she could barely see straight. “Hey! There’s naught wrong wi’ “bein’ a barmaid” pal, and it’s no’ about preference. Did ye no just hear me say it’s not feasible? Besides, I’ve ne’er been to ANY premiere. I’m just a makeup artist, for Christ’s sake! I’m no’ even th’ designer.”

                Unbelievably, if Maggie was mad, Richard was madder. “Don’t you ever, EVER say you’re “just” anything ever again. DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU’RE NEVER “JUST”. YOU’RE A GODDAMNED PART OF THORIN – A BIG PART - AND I _NEED_ YOU THERE. DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? JESUS _FUCK,_ MAGGIE.”

                She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She was having enough trouble forcing air into her lungs. Maggie had seen Richard’s temper before, but she’d (thankfully) never been the focus for it and the experience had her shaking.

                “I’m…” he said, quietly and then paused to take a deep breath. “I have a Christmas gift for Lizzie I was going to give to you.”

                It was obvious he was trying to change gears, but Maggie was too shaken up to change with him. “J-just…m-mail it to her, or…whatever. I have to go.”

                “Maggie, wait, please…”

                “I have to go, Richard. Goodbye. Good luck.”

                What the actual bloody fucking hell had gotten into him? They’d argued before, of course, but he’d NEVER spoken to her like that. She didn’t like it, not one bit, and she was oh-so-very-grateful that they weren’t face-to-face.

                Her phone beeped again.

                _I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry._

                “Sod off,” she said to the phone as she put it on her coffee table for the express purpose of ignoring it – possibly forever. And then she stewed, mentally calling him every name she could think of and even inventing a few new ones. _Bloody arrogant fool. Speaking to me like that. If he thinks I’m going to text him my forgiveness, he’s got another thing com-_

“Good lord, Mairead. Ye’re white as a sheet! Are ye unwell?”

                Maggie started. “WHA-? Oh, Morag. I’m sorry, I didnae hear ye come in. No, I’m fine,” she said with a wholly fake smile.

                “The hell ye are, love. What is it?”

                “No, really. It’s noth-“

                Her phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Three times.

                “Are ye going to get that?”

                Maggie shook her head and resolutely looked anywhere but at her phone…which had the immediate effect of convincing Morag that’s where the problem lay.

                “Richard’s texting ye.” Maggie only replied with a sniff. “Richard? As in Thorin Hottieshield?”

                Maggie snorted. “More like Thorin Fuckingdickheadshield,” she muttered. “Here. Gimme my phone.”

                Morag held it out of her reach… “I think not.” …and then proceeded to read the texts. “What’s he apologizin’ fer?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

                Maggie crossed her arms with a huff. “Being a conceited jackhole?”

                “Well, I think he’s sorry.”

                “Ha! Ye’re only sayin’ that because ye cannae see past th’ fact that ye think he’s good-lookin’. Ye dinnae actually _know_ him.”

                “Nooooooo, I’m sayin’ that because he’s just sent about fifteen texts in about thirteen minutes all wi’ some variation of “I’m sorry” in them.”

                Maggie shrugged. “Whatever.”

                “What happened, Mairead?”

                Maggie told her…and got all worked up again in the process. “I mean, does he think he can just snap his fingers an’ I’ll come runnin’? What the fuck does he need a prosthetic artist for, anyway? Does he want his bloody Dwarf nose on the red carpet?”

                Her phone beeped yet again. Morag read it out loud. “’Maggie, please answer. I board the plane for NZ soon & I can’t spend the flight knowing you’re mad. Please. I’m sorry’.”

                Maggie merely shrugged.

                “Ye’re really gonnae let him stew on a twenty hour flight thinkin’ you willnae forgive him?”

                “Oh, aye. That’s exactly what I’m gonnae do.”

                “Like hell,” Morag answered and started typing a response. Maggie lunged for the phone, but Morag dodged out of the way. She could be surprisingly agile when she had the mind to be. The phone beeped again and then Morag typed another reply. “There. By the time he lands, ye’ll be over it,” she said as she finally handed the phone over.

                “I doubt it,” Maggie answered as she read the conversation.

                _Fine. I’m sure I’ll get over it in the time it takes you to fly to Wellington. Have a safe trip. Let me know when you land._

_Am I forgiven?_

_Ask me again when you’re in NZ._

                For as keen as he seemed to apologize when she wasn’t open to accepting it, it certainly took him a long time to get around to contacting her once he landed. In fact, it took over a full day.

                “Well, that was quite a long flight,” she said by way of greeting when he finally called. “I thought maybe you’d gotten lost.”

                “It’s been a zoo here from the second I landed,” he answered with a laugh. “You’d never believe it. But I’m here. Am I forgiven?”

                _Not so fast, laddie._ “You know, you had no right to speak to me that way.”

                “I know.”

                “And I’m quite proud of what I do, thank you very much.”

                “I know that, too.”

                “And I’m not at your beck and call, Oakentyrant.” She hadn’t meant to use an Oaken-epithet, but it slipped out before she could stop it.

                “Believe me – I know _that_ , too… Maggie, I lost my temper and I’m sorry. I never should have spoken to you like that. It’s not an excuse, but…I’m a little jumpy about this press tour and the premieres and I took it out on you. I’m so sorry. Are we still…friends?”

                _Oh hell. Did he have to sound like such a lost wee boy?_ She sighed. “Well…I guess if you can’t take things out on friends, who can you take them out on? Yes, we’re still friends…even if you are a world class jerk sometimes.”

                Richard laughed. “You’re more than I deserve, my lady.”

                “Damn straight I am,” she replied with a snicker. “Look, you don’t need to worry about this junket, you know. You’ll do great – just be yourself. Er, the funny, witty yourself, not the jerky arrogant yourself,” she added. “And you will be so busy at the premiere, you won’t even know I’m not there.”

                “I doubt that. I do wish you were here –  it has to be seen to be believed. You’ll give me your review after you’ve seen the film, yeah?”

                _Well, that’s kind of him to say._ “Of course I will. Immediately after, if you want – that’ll be about 3 am,” she laughed.

                “Sounds good. Your reaction to it will be freshest then.”

                “Richard, I was kid-“

                “I wasn’t. Call me, text me, email me. I’ll wait up.”

                She laughed again. “Okay, Oakenloon. But I won’t hold it against you if you don’t answer.”

                “I’ll answer. But I have to get going now. Take care, okay?”

                “Always. You too. And Richard? Just be yourself.”

                “Yes, ma’am. Bye.”

                Maggie had _wanted_ to stay mad a little longer, but…well, life was too short to hold onto to petty quibbles. Besides, the premiere was being live-streamed and she wanted to watch it. Of course she had more reasons than just Richard for doing so, but if she were still angry at him, it would have taken some of the enjoyment out it.

                Morag, Maggie, and Lizzie watched it together until Lizzie inevitably got bored and wandered off in search of her own fun (but not before making sure she got a good long look at Mister Richard). As it was ending, Maggie’s phone beeped.              

                _All of Wellington is here and yet I’ve noticed the one person who isn’t. You’re missed, May-reed._

                “Cheeky sod,” she muttered as she sent back a reply:   _You clean up nice, Armitazh but I’ve noticed you’re smiling too much. People mightn’t believe you’re moody & bad-tempered if you don’t stop._

                Morag was agape. “Was that from Himself? Textin’ ye? From th’ red carpet?”

                Maggie rolled her eyes. “Aye, tae gie me hell fer not bein’ there. And he’s no’ on th’ carpet anymore. Look, it’s over. I’m sure he’s inside but they’ve not yet started th’ film.”

                “Mmphm,” was Morag’s reply.

                “Weesht,” Maggie warned.

                “What? All I said was “mmphm”.”

                “Aye, and that’s all ye needed to say. I know what ye’re thinkin’ and it doesnae mean what ye think it means.”

                Morag was suddenly all angelic innocence. “Why, Mairead, I’ve no earthly clue what ye mean.”

                “Aye, right,” Maggie countered as she walked away.

                From that moment on, the world was gripped in _Hobbit_ hysteria. It was seemingly everywhere – the telly, radio, magazines, social media. Maggie couldn’t be happier for all who’d put all that time and talent into making the film, and she counted the days until she could see the finished product for herself.  Soon enough, _An Unexpected Journey_ opened wide across the UK and Morag and Maggie went into Glasgow for a girls’ day (and night) – facials and mani/pedis, naps at the hotel, a late supper at a good restaurant, and finally the film after quite a bit of window shopping. As they were settling into their seats in the theatre, Maggie got a text reminding her that Richard wanted her honest review as soon as the credits rolled. She replied that she hoped she’d still be awake by the end of the picture and called him “Oakennuisance”, and then she turned off her phone.

                One of the very few things that Maggie didn’t like about her job was that spending time on set, seeing a movie being made tended to ruin the magic. Knowing how a shot was created or an effect executed usually made it hard for her to immerse herself in the experience of a film. But _The Hobbit_ …she couldn’t believe how she could spend all those days watching it unfold in front of her but still have no real idea of what to expect from it in the end. It was amazing. It was larger than life. It was long as hell. But she loved every minute. Morag was even more over the moon about it.

                “Oh my god, he’s so swoony!” she declared as they walked arm-in-arm to their hotel.

                Despite the fact that there were fifteen main characters, Maggie didn’t have to ask to whom Morag was referring. “Aye, he can be when he wants tae be.”

                “Gie th’ man all th’ awards!” she shouted into the universe, which caused several dogs in the vicinity to bark.

                Maggie laughed. “I dinnae know of anyone who gies out a “Hottest Male Actor” award.”

                “Aye, well, there should be.”

                Once back at the hotel, Maggie texted Richard while Morag made use of the loo.

                _Damn, the person who did your makeup must be brilliant._

                It took no time at all for him to answer – he must really have waited around for her to get in touch.   _She is. And she’s a big part of Thorin. What did Morag think?_

_Your #1 fan? Her review, verbatim: Give him all the awards! Not sure she means you or 3 rd pony on left, though._

                _Stop before I blush. :-D_

_Okay, okay. It was so much more than I’d ever imagined. Better?_

_Infinitely._

                After Maggie readied herself for bed, she and Morag spent a bit more time chatting about the movie before exhaustion reared its head for both of them. The next day, it was back home to normality. _The Elephant Man_ ended its run and Hamish’s regular barmaid, Tina, was well enough to return to work. Christmas was fast approaching, though, so Maggie had plenty to keep her busy. And something to keep her guessing.

                A package arrived, addressed to “Miss Lizzie Drummond, c/o Her Auntie” just like the year before, only this time it didn’t feel like a book. It was heavy enough to be one, but the shape and feel were more like a box and Maggie couldn’t imagine what was in it. Lizzie was all for opening it right away – it didn’t _say_ “Do not open until Christmas”, as she pointed out – but her father pronounced her old enough to wait until the day like the big girl she was. Lizzie, Maggie, and Morag were all quite disappointed.

                It wasn’t much of a surprise, therefore, when Lizzie decided it should be the first thing she opened on Christmas morning. She tore through the paper to find, as they’d all guessed, a box which opened to reveal –

                “It IS a book! It’s _The Hobbit_! An’ look! There’s anither CD! TWO CDs!” She handed the discs to her mother and held up what turned out to be a lovely leather-bound hardback copy of the book.

                “He read _Th’ Hobbit_? Th’ WHOLE _Hobbit_?” Hamish was floored.

                Maggie was equally surprised, and could only shrug. “Did he write anythin’ inside, Ladybug?”

                Lizzie quickly flipped open the cover and started to read, “To Miss Lizzie who loves stories from someone who’s been to Middle Earth. Happy Christmas from Th-Thorin Oakensh…Thorin Oakenshield.”

                Suddenly, Lizzie had her arms wrapped tight around Maggie’s neck. “What’s this for, lovey? Mister Richard did this on his own. I didnae tell him tae.”

                “But Auntie, if it werenae for _you_ , he wouldnae even know who I am. Or that I love stories. Or anythin’.”

                Maggie smiled. “Well, how could I help but talk about my favorite person in th’ whole world?”

                Hamish cleared his throat. “I hate tae break up all this shmoop, but I see a verra long present behind th’ tree, an’ if it’s no’ the rod an’ reel I asked fer, I’m gonnae be verra put out.”

                Long after the presents were opened and supper eaten, and everything cleaned and put away, the whole family gathered to listen to _The Hobbit_. Lizzie sat curled tightly against Maggie following along with her book. They played the first two chapters and Lizzie lobbied hard for the third, but Hamish put his foot down and sent her upstairs to get ready for bed. She only agreed after Auntie promised to come tuck her in. After the sound of her stomping up the steps faded, Morag spoke.

                “Musta ta’en a long time tae record all that. What wi’ all the voices an’ all,” she remarked drily.

                Maggie had been in that comfortable fog created by a wee bit too much whisky, a warm fire, and a chocolatey voice to listen to. “Aye, it must have,” she replied softly. “I’ll go tuck Hersel’ in.”

                “Mmphm,” was all Morag said as Maggie made her way upstairs.

                She found Lizzie already in bed, reading her book on her own.

                “Oh no. No readin’ ahead. That’s cheatin’, Ladybug.”

                “But – Fine,” she grumbled in response to the stern look she got.

                “I think there’s somethin’ we need tae do afore you go tae sleep. I think we need tae call Mister Richard so ye can thank him.”

                “On th’ phone? But I thought I’d draw him anither picture or we could do a video. I dinnae know what tae say on th’ phone!”

                “All ye need do is say “thank ye”. As long as ye mean it, that’s enough. But I think he’d like tae hear from ye in person, especially after he did all that work fer ye.”

                “But I dinnae know his phone number.”

                Maggie laughed. “Silly goose, I do. I’ll be yer personal assistant and dial it fer ye. What do ye say?” Lizzie nodded, so Maggie placed the call.

                “Must be serious – you always just text,” he answered with a chuckle.

                Maggie used her very best professional voice. “Mr. Armitage? I have Miss Elizabeth Drummond on the line. Please hold.” She passed the phone to Lizzie. “Go on, ladybug.”

                “M-mister Richard?” she started shyly. “. . . Thank ye for th’ Hobbit. It’s my best Christmas present ever,” she said in a Very Serious Tone. “. . . It’s true! It’s a verra long book. Did ye really read it ALL? Fer me? . . . We listened tae th’ first two chapters an’ I love it. . . I’d like that verra much. Well, I hafta go tae bed now. Do ye wanna talk tae Auntie? . . . Thank ye, Mister Richard. Happy Christmas! I love ye! Bye!” She handed the phone back to Maggie with a big smile.

                “So what’s this? You working on the next generation of the Armitage Army?”

                “Yeah, that’s it,” he replied with a chuckle. “Need to start them young so that someone still loves me when I’m old and fat.”

                “Well, I’m pretty sure you have a fan for life,” she said as she watched Lizzie get comfortable under her covers…with her arm firmly wrapped around the book. “What you did…was very sweet and very wonderful.” _Oh, look at that happy little face…_

                “Maggie Drummond, are you crying?”

                “Pft. No. Shut up! God, just take a compliment, would you, or I’ll never do it again.”

                “Sorry. Yes, ma’am, I AM sweet and wonderful,” he added, laughing.

                She started laughing, too. “Okay there, Oakenego. Happy Christmas, Richard.”

                “Happy Christmas, May-reed. Oh, I have something for _you_ – it’s not a present, it’s a picture I took in Wellington and completely forgot about. I’ll send it as soon as we hang up.”

                “I’ll look for it. Take care.”  
                “You too. Bye.”

                Maggie supervised Lizzie’s prayers, tucked her in, and left her to her dreams. Before she went back downstairs, she checked her phone. There was a selfie that Richard had taken with her landlady, Mrs. Wallace, when he was in Wellington. The caption read:   _She misses you. She refuses to let your flat because she says someone else living there wouldn’t be right._

                _Oh! I wondered if you’d stop by, but I didn’t want to ask. Thank you!! I miss her, too._

                Of all the things Maggie got that Christmas, that picture and the happy look on Lizzie’s face were, by far, the best.  And a few days after Hogmanay, she got another gift: the lead makeup artist on _Vikings_ was leaving, and the production company was open to hiring from within. That meant Maggie had her first real shot at a lead artist job in her career. The next month or so was spent working hard on her CV, her portfolio, and on a few new design ideas she had based on what little information about Season Two she’d been given. Finally, all was ready well before the deadline for submission and she sent it off to the production offices in Ireland. Then all she had to do was wait.

                But then a funny thing happened: she got a call from Tami at WETA. Maggie had known that there was pickup work scheduled, but she had also known that they were planning on using only locals, so that obviously wouldn’t include her. What she (and apparently, WETA) hadn’t counted on was how much a creature of habit Richard was. He had established a routine for getting into character back during principal photography, and he wanted to replicate it is as much as he could for pickups. And that meant they needed Maggie. WETA was even willing to put her up in a hotel for the duration of the shoot.

                Maggie was torn. Tami generously gave her a few days to think about it, but needed her answer ASAP. If Maggie spent the better part of the summer (well, winter in the Southern Hemisphere) in New Zealand, she’d miss pre-production for Season Two of _Vikings_ and that would take her out of the running for the lead makeup artist position. The trade-off would be the opportunity to see _The Hobbit_ through to the end.

                _So…the credit I’ve always wanted but haven’t been able to achieve, or finish what I started?_

                There were, of course, pros and cons to both; and choosing New Zealand meant the chance to see people she never thought she’d have the opportunity to see again, but that came at the expense of putting a long-held, but finally attainable, goal on the back burner. But really, _was_ it so attainable? Yes, she had a decent shot at the lead spot on _Vikings_ , but there were plenty of talented folks ahead of her on the makeup totem pole. What were the odds they’d choose her over all of them? And with turnover being what it was in television, she’d likely have another chance sooner rather than later. How many productions like _The Hobbit_ were ever going to come along?

                Maggie was in an absolute quandary and honestly didn’t know which way to go. And for once, Morag, who _lived_ to express her opinions, surprisingly had none.

                “Ye haftae do whatever ye feel in yer heart is right.”

                Maggie laughed. “Since when did ye start quotin’ greetin’ cards?”

                Morag shrugged as she rolled out the dough for meat pies. “Look, there’s pros and cons tae both, aye? And neither one is better than th’ ither, so that means that ultimately, ye’ve gottae do whatever will mak’ ye happiest.”

                “Ugh. But I dinnae _know_ which will mak’ me happiest!”

                “Well…if ye chose _The Hobbit_ ye’d no’ have tae go awa’ fer a few more weeks.”

                “Aye, that’s true en- Oh, I get it,” Maggie said with a grin.

                “Get what?”

                “I’ll be able to stay here a few more weeks AND I’ll have naethin’ tae do so there’ll be time to set me up wi’ that guy ye’ve been bangin’ on about. What’s his name? Duncan?”

                “Oh, him? No, I’ve realized ye wouldnae suit. I wasnae gonnae set ye up wi’ him.”

                “What?!?”

                Morag shrugged again. “Why waste yer time?”

                Maggie was stunned. “Who are ye, and what have ye done wi’ Morag?”

                Clearly, no help was coming from _that_ quarter. Maggie continued to stew every minute of those few days and mightn’t have ever come to a conclusion were it not for one thing: Richard himself.

                She knew his habits. She knew his process. She knew how difficult he sometimes found it to get into character at a time when he lived in that character’s skin six days a week. How much harder would it be now after leaving Thorin behind nearly a year ago? Together, they had his transformation down nearly to a science and it’s what worked for him. If he thought he needed that now, could she really say no?

                Once again, Maggie said goodbye to her family and boarded a flight to New Zealand. This time, though, she had Graham along to entertain her. They caught each other up on the last nine months of their lives and Graham shared some juicy tidbits of the gossip he so loved. Funny how brief a flight like that could seem when you didn’t feel like you were alone.

                As she settled into what she firmly believed was the World’s Smallest Hotel Room ( _ah well – it’s clean, it’s comfy, and I’m not paying for it)_ , Maggie got a text from Natalie demanding her presence at a get together at a local pub. Getting dressed and going out was about the last thing she felt like doing, but what the hell. She had to eat, anyway.

                She was running late and found herself literally running along the sidewalk, fiercely concentrating on not falling in the heels she couldn’t fathom why she’d chosen to wear. She saw a few familiar folks heading into the pub as she ran – Stephen and Martin and someone quite tall in front of him. Tall enough that she could see the entire dark head and broad shoulders above Martin’s an-

                _Oh no._

                Maggie found herself at a complete standstill. One second she was running toward the pub and the next she had stopped moving altogether. She didn’t even remember skidding. As far as she knew, she had literally just stopped moving and stood there, completely still and barely even breathing. It was almost as if she had just turned to stone. When she finally drew breath, she did so shakily.

                _Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no. It’s…he…Oh god. When did the sight of the back of his head have the power to bring me to a screeching halt? No, seriously – when did anybody’s head ever have that power? How? WHY?_

No, she wasn’t going to explore THAT question any further. No. This was bad. This was very, VERY bad. Her legs were shaking and her belly was doing somersaults and… _Jesus shit. No._

                She couldn’t go in. Definitely not. The back of his damn head had just turned everything inside her to goo. How could she ever face him? How they’d be able to work together was beyond her, but she had a few days to work that out. For now, she’d just go back to the hotel and call Natalie and make her apolo-

                “Maggie? Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

                _Dammit. Tami._ “No, I’m fine. I was just…well, I was running and I just stopped to catch my breath. I guess I’m out of shape.” She hoped her laugh didn’t sound as hysterical to Tami as it did to her own ears.

                “Are you sure you’re all right?” Maggie nodded. “Are you coming in then? Most of the cast and crew will be here tonight.”

                Maggie nodded again. “Yep. Just need another minute or two.” _Or eternity._

                Tami smiled and said she’d see her inside and left Maggie standing there. _What the hell am I going to do now? Besides make a complete arse of myself in front of “most of the cast and cr-“ Wait a minute. That’s a lot of people._ _In a very small space. That means chaos mingling. If I keep my eye on him so I know where he is, I can probably manage to socialize in the opposite direction all night._

                Plan made, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and headed into the pub. Immediately upon walking through the door, she took stock of the room. Thankfully, _he_ was toward the back of it, away from the bar where someone was waving to get her attention.

                “Troy? I didn’t know you’d be here!” she said as she hugged him.

                Troy smiled and hugged her back. “I’m part of the reason Natalie commanded you to come tonight, actually.”

                Just then, Natalie came flying out of nowhere to wrap her in an enormous hug. When she let Maggie go, Troy slid his arm around her and she held out her left hand for inspection. “Guess what!”

                The rock she was sporting was gigantic. “Oh my god, the two of you? Oh, how fabulous!”

                Maggie wasn’t sure why she never realized before how right Troy and Natalie would be for each other, and she couldn’t be happier that the two of them had figured it out. The happy day was to be in September and she was assured she’d be invited.

                As they chatted, Maggie kept her eye out for _him_. When _he_ started mingling, _she_ started mingling, and it turned out to be easier than she’d have expected to avoid him. He was tall enough that she had no trouble knowing where he was at all times, no matter how thick a crowd he stood in, and she was even able to relax and chat with lots of the others. Inevitably, her bladder demanded her attention, so after checking to make sure he was still on the other side of the pub, she ducked down the hall that led to the rest rooms. She enjoyed the few minutes that she didn’t have to be hyper-aware of her surroundings. When she was done, she walked back out to scan the room.

                Almost immediately, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

                “You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you?”

                Even before he spoke, she knew who it was. Damn her bladder. _Well, here’s the moment of truth._

                “Now why would I ever do that,” she asked as she turned around and grinned. Not only did she not go paralytic, but she was able to hug him normally. _God, he smells good_.

                They immediately fell into companionable conversation that was no different from any of the others they’d ever had, and suddenly, she wondered what she had been worried about.  She even began to wonder if she’d imagined her reactions earlier. They ate dinner together – well, together with eight other people at the table –and it was fun and relaxed and she enjoyed herself immensely.

                Finally, many hours later, she was surprised to find that they were among the last few left. Earlier that evening, that fact would have induced a panic attack; now, however, it just felt…comfortable – the way it was supposed to be.

                “I suppose I should head back to the hotel, too – I have production meetings in the morning, but…” she shrugged and trailed off. She had no idea how she would have finished that sentence. She only knew it would have been embarrassing.

                “But…?”

                “But…” she looked away from him. “Tonight has been too wonderful. Seeing…everybody – well, I’ve missed this.”

                “You know you’re not the only one who feels that way, right? This many people wouldn’t have shown up if they weren’t looking for an excuse to get together.”

                She smiled. “The film had nothing to do with it?”

                “Well, maybe just a little,” he grinned that slightly lopsided grin and she laughed, but then his grin morphed into a yawn he couldn’t stifle.

                 “Okay, that’s it. That’s my cue to head back to the hotel.”

                Richard was confused. “What? Why?”

                “Because you will keep sitting here out of pity as long as I do, and it’s pretty clear you need sleep.” She stood and he followed.

                “I’m not sitting here out of _pity_ , Maggs.”

                “Yeah, well, whatever your reasons, you need sleep so I’m going to see you to your hotel.”

                “Jesus, you’re a bossy woman. Where are you staying?”

                “The same hotel as everyone else,” she replied as they left the pub.

                “In that case, then I shall be the one seeing _you_ to _your_ hotel.”

                “Whatever, my king,” she giggled and dropped a curtsy.

                They walked the short distance to the hotel. Neither of them spoke in the elevator and she was uncomfortably aware of how small the space was and how much room he seemed to take up in it. The antsy feeling she’d had earlier was starting to come back and she just prayed she could make it to her room without doing or saying anything embarrassing. The elevator finally came to a stop on her floor and they got out and, true to his word, he walked her to her door.          

                 “Well, this is me,” she said, and turned toward him. “God, I’m glad I got to see you tonight.” She took a step toward him then stopped, suddenly feeling shy as well as nervous.  “I’m going to hug you now so you don’t think I’m avoiding you.” She laughed and moved toward him again, and he took a step forward and hugged her back. . He felt so comfortable and safe, and…

                …all of a sudden, they were kissing.

                It felt…right and normal – like it was far from the first time – and made her weak in the knees and oh dear lord she wanted more. When she felt his tongue on her lips, she opened her mouth for him.

                When they finally pulled apart, she was out of breath and shaky, and desperate to break the tension.

                “Well…I guess that’s proof I’m not avoiding you, huh?”

                She laughed nervously and he joined in. “You’ll have breakfast tomorrow before your meetings?” She nodded and got another of those lopsided grins in return. “See you tomorrow then.”

                He leaned in and lightly kissed her forehead then turned and walked away. She was glad he didn’t wait until she got the door open to leave so that he didn’t see how badly her hand shook as she tried to get the keycard in the lock. She managed to get the door open and walked into the room and shut it behind her, then leaned on it for support.

                Her legs gave out and she slid down to the floor.

                What the hell had she just done? It was supposed to be just a regular, good night hug between friends, but then it… _Well, maybe he’ll think it was just a regular, good night kiss between friends, too. Those happen, right? No, not like that they don’t. There’s no way he’ll believe that was just an innocent kiss. There was nothing innocent about it._ It had been…well, there was a reason she was shaking like jelly on the floor: it had been one hell of an amazing kiss.

                She thought she heard something and she froze in the act of hugging her knees. _Was that a knock?_ No, it couldn’t be. She was sitting against the door and barely heard it. It must have just been…what? Wishful thinking? Was she really wishing he’d come back? She had no idea what made her stand up – as silently as she could – to look out the peephole.

                And there he was.

                She thought about not opening the door. He’d knocked quietly enough, she could always say she hadn’t heard him. She knew he was there to apologize and say the whole thing had been a mistake and she just didn’t want to hear it. Then again, she knew deep down that it was the truth and they’d need to clear the air about it eventually. Better now than later. She was already feeling strange enough around him, no need to prolong that or make it worse. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

                He stood leaning on the door frame with both hands as though it were holding him up. She knew she should say something, but her mind seemed to have completely shut down. It had been wrong to kiss him, but all she wanted was to do it again. He drew breath to speak, and it appeared he was having trouble looking her in the eye.  She braced herself for what he was about to say.

                “There are…like…a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t be knocking on your door right now.”

                That was not at all what she had expected him to say, and it took her a few seconds to process the words and the meaning behind them. Her decision as to what to do seemed to make itself.

                “And there are at least that many reasons why I shouldn’t stand aside and ask you in,” which is exactly what she did, giving him enough room to walk past her. “Come in,” she said, but he didn’t move.

                “If I do, I won’t want to leave…” He looked away from her before continuing. “…until morning.”

                He still wasn’t looking directly at her. He had given her an out, but she wouldn’t take it.

                Maggie never said a word. She just stepped further aside to let him pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barring an asteroid hitting the hotel, or an ill-timed fire alarm, it's not hard to figure out where the next chapter is going. As I have no preference as to which POV I post first (sometimes it makes sense to do one before the other, but I've started writing both versions this time), I thought I'd ask you, the readers, which you'd prefer to read. I've set up a poll at: Chapter 21 Poll . Since most of my regular readers get to each new chapter within 3-4 days, I'll leave the poll open through the weekend. Happy voting!  
> UPDATE: Richard (as I fully expected) has a commanding 78%-22% lead and, believe it or not, I have the next chapter ready to go so I'm ending the voting early. Thanks to everyone for sharing their opinion! I'm off to upload now.


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